by Beth Trissel
She dug her stocking feet into the grassy earth between the stones near the water. “Fight like a man!” she shouted at Paxton. “I'm not going with you!"
"Like hell.” He dragged her away from the spring. Even wounded, his grasp was unyielding. But his labored breathing betrayed the cost as he forced her on through the trees.
Her resourcefulness in escaping Paxton at the spring had astonished Wicomechee, particularly as he didn't know she could swim. But she was out of her element now. Once more, Paxton held her so closely Wicomechee didn't dare fire, and if he rushed him, Paxton would cut her throat, maybe just enough to further weaken her, then drag her off again—the coward.
Wicomechee had closed the gap between them to twenty yards, when the Long Knife forced Charity into the clearing.
"Mechee!” she cried, raking at his heart.
Paxton gave her a back-handed crack across the mouth. “No Injun talk!"
Wicomechee thought rage would consume him when he saw Chaka. While other warriors streaked past to visit punishment on the stragglers in the field, Chaka slipped behind a broad tree in front of Paxton. With quick work of his blade, he took the scalp of the man fallen near the trunk then stood eyeing the hated Long Knife. Chaka's stance told Wicomechee he was angling for a kill—Paxton, his target.
Maybe Chaka did care enough about Charity to help get her back, or maybe it just goaded him that Paxton had taken her. Alone, Chaka couldn't free her without endangering her anymore than Wicomechee could. Perhaps together, they'd find a way.
Paxton dragged her into the grassy opening, his back to Wicomechee, his near panicked focus on the mayhem in the field. Wicomechee stole behind the two and signaled Chaka with his tomahawk. He pointed to himself and Paxton, gesturing at Chaka to approach the Long Knife from the front.
Charity never thought she'd be glad to see Chaka, but when he stepped out from the tree, she felt a desperate rush of hope. He stood before Paxton, blocking his way.
The shaken man held the blade closer to her throat. “Let me pass or I'll kill her."
She winced as the edge grazed her raw wound. “Chaka! Stop him!"
Chaka waved a freshly-taken scalp. “This belongs to your man. English girl belongs to Shawnee. Let her go."
Fingers shaking, Paxton pressed the blade deeper. “Stay back."
Screaming in pain, she tore her arm free from him and closed her hand around his grip on the knife handle. With a violent tug, she pulled his weakened hand away.
He dealt her a blow in the stomach, and knocked her arm down. She dangled, wheezing, in his grip.
"You bastards will never take her alive!” Paxton yelled.
Scorn curved Chaka's lips. “No?"
A strangled breath gargling in Paxton's throat was his only reply, and a violent shudder shook him like a seizure. His arms spasmed out and his fingers flexed, spilling the knife to the ground.
Triumph shone in Chaka's face. “Foolish man."
Charity staggered back, gulping in air. She hardly recognized her loving companion of early morning in Wicomechee's slitted eyes. Wrenching his tomahawk from Paxton's shoulder, he threw him to the ground. The sprawled man stared up in helpless terror as he bent over him and seized his knife.
He grasped Paxton's greasy hair, forcing his head back. “You took my woman, put your blade to her throat. Her fear cried out to me and I could do nothing. Your men bound my brother, struck him. For this, you will die. All die."
In one swift slice Wicomechee opened Paxton's throat.
"Oh God.” Charity's shaky legs failed her.
She collapsed on the grass, but oblivion didn't come and steal her from the grisly scene. She knew where she lay and who lay near her. The anguished screams of men sharing Paxton's fate rang in her ears and the stench of death filled her nose. Her ominous premonition had become a reality.
Wicomechee shifted his gaze to her. In that instant, she knew he remembered.
Never will I take you into battle, he'd said. What else could he not prevent from happening to her?
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Chapter Thirteen
Five Days Later
Lashing rain scattered the swirling leaves to the four winds, and thunder boomed. Lightning flashed through blackened trunks awash with the deluge. Ordinarily Charity disliked blustery weather, but she was grateful for the respite it had provided from the relentless journey.
Those warriors not out hunting were clustered along the fortress-like stone beneath overhanging rocks. Protected from the worst of the storm, they sat near campfires to mend worn moccasins, clean muskets, and smoke pipes. The tempest drowned out much of their conversation. A strong musk from the press of men added to the earthiness of saturated humus and aromatic wood smoke. The gunpowder scent, reawakened by cleaning, mixed with the pungent tobacco.
Hugging the tiny infant to her shoulder, Charity hovered as near the blaze as she dared without setting herself afire. With her free hand, she lifted the wooden ladle lying across two of the stones that surrounded the firepit and stirred the broth simmering in a large black kettle. The pot was suspended over the flames by a sturdy pole passing between two forked sticks. Boiling stock from scraps and bones had been her idea. The meaty aroma wafting through the tang of wood smoke brought a small measure of comfort to the cheerless day.
Colin sat cross-legged by the fire, Lily tucked in his lap and James by his side, intent on a card game with Muga. The children were engrossed in the play of red and black colored cards and apparently oblivious of the tumult descending just beyond their rocky shelter. Charity would gladly learn the game, but little Mary Elizabeth was fretful. Bouncing on her toes, she patted the restless newborn.
Colin threw down his cards and glanced up as Muga spread a winning hand on the ground with a grin. “You can't stall that wee lass much longer, gal."
"I'll try for a bit more. Emma's so tired."
He looked past Charity to where Emma lay as snugly bedded against the stone wall as he could make her. “Poor lady. What a grueling ordeal this has been for her. Only two days to regain her strength before Outhowwa insisted we go on.” His troubled gaze met Charity's. “I'm thinking of falling behind the larger party to travel more slowly with the warriors who would agree to go with us."
"You mean, linger here awhile?"
"Yes. But few men will tarry. Most are in a hurry to reach the village and hunt for their families. The women grow corn, squash, and beans but supplies dwindle as winter nears."
A gust of wind sent cold fingers beneath Charity's skirts. “That can't be long in coming. I fear for Emma if we continue at this pace, though, and the little one suffers."
"I know. Still, it's risky to travel in such a small party,” Colin said. “There's far greater safety in numbers and danger takes many forms in the frontier."
Muga finished dealing out a new hand of cards and removed the pipe from his mouth. “I go with you. Posetha go."
Colin squeezed his shoulder.
Charity shifted the squirming baby onto her other shoulder. “Mechee will."
Colin flipped over an eight of spades. “That's a given. Though I doubt Outhowwa will thank me for depriving his party of their most skilled hunter."
"Outhowwa knows you two are inseparable."
A fleeting thoughtfulness softened Colin's somber expression. “I sometimes feel there's a kinship between us that goes beyond adoption, even beyond being blood brothers."
"You're about the same height."
He smiled faintly. “Our coloring's a bit different."
"True, but you're both well-favored."
"So are you. Does that make us relations?"
"I could do with a few more.” She peered vainly into the haze and rain for Wicomechee, longing to be with him and equally uncertain. How fierce he'd been when he felled Paxton, his face so grim...every bit the warrior she feared. Could she ever truly feel at ease with him?
Mary Elizabeth wailed, and Colin laid down his cards. “Perhap
s you can distract her long enough for me to bring Emma a bowl of broth. Take my place, James.” The little boy nodded absently, his focus on the game. “I see we've found the way to keep you still. Lily, you'll have to move, sweetheart,” he said, and lifted her from his lap.
She reached small arms around the dozing beagle's neck. “Weshe can play."
Colin's lips twitched. “As soon as he learns the cards."
"I will teach him."
"You do that, little darling.” Colin smoothed her golden-brown curls then stood. Taking a wooden bowl from the stack near the fire, he ladled steaming broth to the brim and sipped. “Delicious, Charity. Hits the spot."
Mary Elizabeth renewed her lusty protest. “Hand her here. I'll take the babe and broth together.” Holding the bowl aloft, Colin curved his other arm around the wriggling bundle. She fixed her blue eyes on him and quieted. Her puckered mouth curved in an unmistakable smile.
He smiled back, seemingly entranced. “You're a real little charmer when you want to be, aren't you?"
Charity stroked the fuzz on the baby's crown peeking out from the swaddling. She looked from her minute features to his masculine face, still mottled with the fading bruises. “Mary Elizabeth favors you enough to be your true daughter."
He smiled crookedly. “You're giving me relations left and right, dear heart. Come, little bird,” he said to the baby. “Let's find your mama."
Charity turned back to the fire. Ladling a bowl of broth, she sipped the hot liquid and gazed at the rain drumming the leaves piled on the ground. How could Wicomechee find his way in this fog, let alone hunt?
"Charity,” a low voice called softly from behind her.
She spun around to see Rob Buchanan half-hidden in the shadows back against the rock wall. When had he made his way there? She'd glimpsed him earlier with a different gathering.
"Will you bring me some broth?” he asked.
She hesitated. Outhowwa and Wicomechee had been quite clear about there being no contact between them.
"Please. The others haven't come yet."
"I suppose it couldn't hurt.” Dipping the ladle into the kettle, she refilled her own bowl and carried it to him.
He smiled and reached for it with unbound wrists. “I thank you most kindly."
"You are most kindly welcome. I best go now."
"Wait. Bide awhile and speak with me."
She darted a glance around the encampment. Muga had his back turned to her and Colin was preoccupied with Emma.
"No one's paying us any mind just now,” Rob said.
"Very well. For a bit."
He brightened and patted a spot near him. “Sit here."
She lowered herself uneasily onto the layer of dry leaves.
"I'm supping in grand style with you by my side.” Lifting the bowl to his lips, he swallowed hungrily. He gulped a final swallow and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “By heaven, I needed that. You had a hand in the soup making?"
She nodded. Little physical evidence of the beating remained on Rob's face. He was the youthful image of his good-hearted father, attractive in a rugged way and intelligent, but his ordeal was fresh in her mind.
"You're not tied. Does Outhowwa leave you unbound now?"
"During the day. I'm trussed up again at night."
"I'm glad you have some freedom."
"He usually sees to it I'm guarded. I reckon no one thinks me fool enough to run out into this storm.” He smiled. “I would, only I've a far more pleasant occupation just now.” he smiled.
Her cheeks warmed at the open appreciation in his hazel eyes. “Do you still think to escape?” she whispered.
"First chance I get."
"Don't take the risk. Your punishment would be severe if you're retaken."
"Afraid you might have to come to my rescue again?"
"I doubt I would be successful. Outhowwa has scant fondness for me, though he seems to like you well enough."
Rob shrugged his wide shoulders. “He doesn't abuse me."
"You are fortunate he wants to adopt you."
Two warriors ducked under the generous overhang beyond Muga. She recognized the white deer tail decorating Hoskasa's scalp lock. Limp rabbit ears protruded from the bulging haversack he'd taken from a fallen Highlander in battle.
"The hunters are returning. I better go."
Rob closed his hand over her arm. “Wait. Wicomechee's not among them, nor Outhowwa. I haven't had the chance to thank you for what you did. I owe you my life."
She hovered nervously beside him. “I was grateful to be of service, but Mister Dickson really made the difference."
"Those few minutes you bought me before his arrival were vital. ‘Twas very brave of you, Charity. I feel terrible you were punished."
"My suffering was little in comparison to yours."
He set the bowl down and clasped her hand. “I would spare you all manner of suffering, were it in my power. If we hadn't been taken captive, you might well be my betrothed."
She tried to pull back without drawing attention. “Rob, you mustn't. If Mechee sees us—"
"Mechee? Is that what you call him?"
"Easier to say. He'll be furious."
Rob kept tenacious hold of her. “Hear me out. I've been longing to speak with you."
She couldn't escape him without creating a scene. “Be quick. Please."
He reached out his other hand and tucked a tendril behind her ear. The familiarity of his touch only increased her discomfort. “I adore you, Charity, and have for ages. You must know the strength of my regard."
"Yes.” She prayed no one else would notice.
"You fled the last time I came calling, remember?"
"How can I forget? You tried to kiss me."
His lips curved in a wry smile. “And off you went like a startled doe. Still, I was willing to be patient and win you. Even now, I've not lost hope. Promise you will wait for me."
His ardent regard heaped on her like hot coals. “Oh, Rob. I can't promise."
"Listen, our recovery may be more possible than you think. An army under the command of Colonel Bouquet is marching on the Shawnee and their Delaware allies."
Not long ago she would have rejoiced at these tidings. Now, a weight sank in her middle. “Your father spoke of it."
Rob nodded eagerly. “The Indians are beaten down from years of war. Without French aid it's likely they'll be forced to seek terms of peace, the Colonel's terms. If this happens, I'm confident he will demand the return of captives."
Her throat tightened. “All?"
Rob's sandy brows drew together. “Yes."
"Even if they don't want to go back?” she forced out.
"What in God's name are you talking about? Oh, you mean your cousin, Emma Estelle?"
"Not only her."
"Who, then? Does James want to play at being an Indian?"
There was nothing for it other than to speak plainly. “I couldn't bear to leave Mechee."
Rob looked at her in the same manner his shocked father had. “Good Lord. You truly care for this warrior?"
She nodded.
He blew out his breath. “I saw Wicomechee with his arm around you. Made me madder than a baited bull, but I thought you were feigning affection to appease him."
Her constricted throat made speech difficult. “Mechee is unlike anyone, and any other warrior."
Rob ran agitated fingers through his hair. “It's unexpected, yet understandable, I suppose. Wicomechee's not bad for a warrior, and you are dependent on him for your very survival. But he's Shawnee, Charity. You belong with your own kind. Don't you want to go home?"
His wounded question pierced the ache way down in her heart. “I fear I shall never see the valley again."
"Our valley. We grew up there together. I know I could make you happy if I had the chance."
She lowered her eyes from the appeal in his. “Perhaps you could have, once. I was afraid to give you that chance."
"It's not too late."
"It is. I'm promised to Mechee."
"How so?"
"As his wife, with Outhowwa's blessing."
"Hell. Has Wicomechee consummated this union?"
She glanced up and answered haltingly. “Not if that means what I think it does. But he will."
A red flush colored the fading bruises on Rob's cheeks. “And there's little I can do to prevent him, damn him,” he muttered. “That thieving son of a bitch."
She'd rarely heard such coarse language in her life and never from Rob. She shrank back.
"Sorry.” He reined in his tongue and cupped one hand to her cheek. “Even if Wicomechee has claimed you, I swear I'll find a way to get you back. If Colonel Bouquet doesn't succeed in his quest, I know my father will go to any length to gain our freedom. In time, you'll forget this warrior. The regard you bear him is only a fleeting infatuation."
"How can you say that? You don't know how I feel."
"I've known you since we were children.” He circled an arm around her waist, further entrapping her. “You're just confused, not thinking clearly. I'll teach you to love me."
"Please, Rob. You're endangering us both. Let me go."
"I haven't so much as spoken to you in weeks. I am not turning you loose to run back to him."
Her stomach churned. “I'll find a way to speak with you again."
"They'll keep us apart."
"Release me. I beg you."
"So sweetly you plead. Have you pleaded with him?"
"I've asked Mechee not to consummate our union yet, as you called it,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar term.
"At least that's a step in the right direction. If he's as noble as you say he is, he will respect your wishes."
"It's not that I don't care for him. I'm frightened."
Rob clinched her tightly. “You bloody well should be. Keep the savage at bay, Charity. Give me a chance."
She didn't dare struggle and arouse suspicion. “We're going to be in so much trouble. Especially you. Let me go."
"Kiss me first."
She couldn't believe her ears. “Are you mad?"
"With love."
"Shhhh. Don't speak so."
