Black Eagle

by Gen Bailey

  She sighed. “Understand me. It is a part of the agreement between servant and master that when you are hired, you are beholden to the one who hired you.”

  “I am beholden to none, and so long as I am scout for this party, I will continue to agree or disagree, and will say what I think at my leisure regardless of what you or any man says.”

  She bemoaned and glared in the direction where he stood. She said, “Who do you think you are? ”

  “I am your guide.”

  “Obviously, but I meant . . .” She paused without finishing her line of thought. Instead, she said, “Who hired you? Thompson? ”

  “It is so.”

  “Ah! That explains it. Perhaps you little understand that I hired Thompson; therefore, I could unhire you,” she threatened.

  He nodded, although he doubted that she could see the movement. He said, “You have that choice.”

  “And I shall exercise that choice as soon as Richard Thompson arrives. In the meanwhile, you will cease being a nuisance to my servants as they load my dresses and toiletries onto the animals.”

  “I cannot do that. I will not do that,” he said. He took a step forward, coming for the first time into the soft, flickering light of the stables. “It is dangerous to take so many things on a journey such as this. Are you not aware of that? ”

  “No, and I—” She became suddenly cognizant of him, and as she stared at him, her lips were still parted from whatever else she had been about to say.

  He well understood her plight, for she had not recognized him by his voice alone. Indeed, she was as shocked as he had feared she might be, and to reduce the edge of any surprise he had caused, he proffered, “I told you that we would meet each other again. Perhaps I should have spoken more plainly on this matter before . . .”

  At first nothing happened; she merely gaped at him. Then her eyes widened, and her expression became set. “You!” she said at last, then, “You!” she stated again, as though she could not believe what her eyes were telling her was so. She took a step away from him. “You are to be our guide? ”

  “I am.”

  “And you knew this when you and I . . . when . . .”

  “I fear that I did.”

  “Of course,” she said, “you said as much to me. I remember it now. It is only that I didn’t realize . . .” She took a few more steps backward, away from him. “Why did you not tell me plainly so that I understood? ”

  “It was wrong of me not to do so.”

  “Indeed, it was.” She turned so that her back was toward him, and she paced several more steps away from him. “This changes things.”

  “It should change very little.”

  “No, I am sorry, but it changes much. You cannot possibly lead us . . .” She paused as an emotion he could little interpret shook her body. Then, almost to herself, she muttered, “And yet you must lead us, since there is no time to hire another.” She turned her face to the side, looking at him from over her shoulder. And he was struck by the beauty of her simple profile. So captivating was she that he could think of nothing to say. But it was unnecessary, for she continued, “Had I known that you . . . that we . . . that . . .” She sighed. “Had I known that it was you who had been hired to lead us, I would never have come to you. I would never have . . .”

  He paused, as if awaiting her next words, when she said, “As soon as Richard Thompson arrives, I will tell him that you cannot possibly lead our party. Indeed, he will have to take us on this route alone.”

  “Why? ”

  “I should think that would be obvious.”

  “It is unwise to trust your safety to only Thompson. If you do that, then you will only have one man to defend you on your journey, and this at a time when there is a war waging over this land. It’s unwise. Besides, there are few white men who know of the safe paths that run through the eastern woods.”

  “I am certain that he knows them well enough.”

  “To lead you through enemy country, in such a way that you might arrive with your life still intact? ”

  “Yes. I’m certain he’s more than qualified.”

  “Qualifications mean nothing to a war party.”

  “I beg your pardon? ”

  “What you need is manpower. If you take only Thompson, it could kill you because there is only one to defend you.”

  She seemed not to hear him. Instead, she began to pace forward, then as though she were unaware of making the movement, she paced back; then forward again, back, which was repeated over and over. He watched her, fascinated.

  “Dear Lord,” she mumbled after a time, “this is a terrible turn for what has already been an agonizing morning.”

  “Has something else happened? ”

  “Yes. I was missed last night, and I’m afraid my guardian, my step-uncle, is set to dismiss me and my maid out of hand, without so much as a kind word in farewell.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Are you? ”

  “I am, truly,” he said. He took a step forward, into the line of her pacing.

  But she skirted around him, and passing by him, she said, “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why? ”

  “Because you should have told me about yourself. To not do so is a matter of dishonesty, isn’t it? You should have given me the opportunity to think clearly with all the facts available to me.”

  “I was going to tell you afterward, but you left.” He hesitated. “Why did you leave? ”

  “Because I had other matters to attend to,” she said, her pacing growing faster. “And because I never intended to . . .”

  He arched a brow at her. “To see me again? ”

  She stopped suddenly in her tracks, and she turned, presenting him with her back. She said, as though to herself, “What am I to do? I must leave, and yet now I cannot.”

  “Why must you leave? If you are having trouble with your family, stay and settle whatever is wrong between you before you depart. When you are ready to go, I will be here.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I have to go. Something else has happened that makes this imperative.”

  He pulled a face. “What else has happened? ”

  “I cannot speak of it. Know only that we, my maid and I, must leave, and as soon as possible. What a predicament,” she continued. “We need a scout and yet I cannot possibly travel with you after . . . after . . .” Her voice broke.

  “Is it that you feel I will admire you too greatly? ”

  She turned her profile away from him, presenting him with the back of her head. She didn’t answer.

  “Or do you think I might seduce you? ”

  “No, it is that . . . well, maybe.” She bent her head.

  He took a few more steps, coming up behind her, and, despite their cross words to each other, it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. “And if I promise not to? ”

  “Promise not to what? Not to seduce me? ”

  “I admit, it will be nearly impossible for me to stay away from you.” As if to give emphasis to this fact, he stretched out a hand to press his fingers over the nape of her neck. Nor did it bode well for him that she practically melted beneath his touch. He swallowed hard, then said, “We should marry. You realize this, do you not? ”

  She sighed. “Do not change the subject. Besides, why should I realize this? ”

  “Because of the way we are with each other.”

  “No, I can never marry you. You must see that.”

  “I do not see that,” he said. “What I understand is that when two people share the kind of passion that we have, they should marry, and if bad things are to come at them, then they should face these things together.”

  “No, what you suggest is quite out of the question.”

  “And yet, even now you cannot ignore what happens between us; it is rare. Not always is it this way between two people, and where this kind of passion is found, it should be nurtured, for many good things can grow from it. To ignore this natural f
orce, is to disregard the pulling nature of attraction. Always you might wonder about what could have been; I would feel much the same, also. It could destroy our future happiness.”

  “We will both have to take that chance, I fear, for what you suggest is impossible.”

  “It is not impossible. What are your objections? ”

  She blew out a breath. “My objections? Are they not plain? ”

  “Plain? What is it that you speak of? That we are so different? If so, then perhaps that is all the more reason to make a union.”

  She scoffed. “Are you mad? Surely you must realize that no one from my culture would recognize such a marriage. They would laugh at it; they would laugh at me. And if we were to have children, they would be born out of wedlock because no one would admit that there could even be such a union.”

  “Then come and live with me in my village.” As if to convince her, he bent and pressed his lips against her shoulder. He noted well that she shivered. “My people would love you.”

  She moaned and took a step forward, away from him. He followed her, and she said, from over her shoulder. “No. It is entirely out of the question. I am sorry if I have misled you to think that a union between us might be possible. What you ask could never be. Not in this world. Besides, we leave the point.”

  “The point? About your things? ”

  “No, about your leading us.”

  He shook his head. “If you must go today, then there is no one else to take you but me. I could ask my people if there is another who could do it. But, know this, it is already the end of the Harvest Moon. Soon the Falling Moon and the Hunting Moon will be upon this land, and no Mohawk will wish to be away from his people when he should be hunting food for the coming winter.”

  She hunched her shoulders, and he went on to say, “Besides, I would be close to you, if possible. If you would know, it was not my desire to take this job until I discovered that it was you whom I was to lead. Only then did I agree.”

  Still she remained silent, her head bowed and her shoulders rounded forward.

  He proffered, “If you wish me to take an oath to remain distant from you, I will.”

  “No, you still don’t understand. It is not you I fear. It is myself.”

  He was amazed that she would admit the fact, since it showed a weakness; he loved her all the more because of it.

  He said, “If that be the case, then it is important that I do come with you, and if you want me to swear an oath to remain apart from you—”

  “No, an oath is not necessary, although it is true that if we were to travel together, I would like you to keep your distance.”

  He nodded.

  “And were we to journey together, I would also like to bring more of my things than what you are allowing.”

  He shook his head. “Nature will provide all that you will ever need. To take more than this could prove to be a disaster. As it is, I am not in favor of bringing the horses—they are too easy to track. Take only what you alone can carry.”

  “You would have me walk, then? ”

  “It is the safest way to travel through the woods. Perhaps we will be able to go by canoe from time to time. But to do otherwise is to court trouble. I would have you safe.”

  She sighed, and he took the few necessary steps to come up behind her and press his body against hers. “Come, let us forget our disagreements,” he placed a hand around her waist and drew her close. “Come share my life with me. Marry me.”

  “This is madness,” she said and she stepped out of his embrace. “I cannot marry you. I will not. Last night was meant to be no more than a sweet indulgence . . . something to remember when I do eventually marry a man of my guardian’s choosing, as I am bound to do.”

  He turned her round then and took her in his arms, and when she provided no resistance, his heart sang. Her words might reject him, her body did not. In truth, her head came down to nestle upon his shoulder as though his strength was there to give no other service than to fit her head perfectly. And he held her; he simply held her.

  He sighed. It felt so right, what was between them. Perhaps in time, he might yet persuade her into his life. It was certainly not in his nature to give up.

  Bringing his lips to her ear, he first kissed her, then whispered, “Go get your things. Bring only what you can easily carry. Though one might hope that it will never be, there may yet come a time when you will be glad to have brought so little. Go, get your things and let us leave here at once.”

  She sighed. “You are certainly a unique man. Perhaps the most unusual man I have ever known.”

  “I am not unusual.”

  “I beg to disagree. Here I have come to you to either persuade you into doing my bidding or to fire you, and instead, I find myself persuaded.”

  “Persuaded to marry me or to let me lead you? ”

  She shook her head. “I can never marry you. This will not change. But I will let you lead our party. Especially since I feel you are right about Thompson. He might only get us thoroughly lost.”

  “Indeed. It has long been an observation amongst my people that without a Mohawk by their side, the English are as lost in the forest as a child. However, what you say about change is not true. All things change. It is the one thing a man can always depend on. Nothing stays the same.” He kissed her, and though she might object to many things about him, she did not reject his kiss. In truth, it was several minutes later before he set her from him, and he said, “Go now, Ahweyoh. Get your things. I am prepared to leave here at once.”

  “Ahweyoh?”

  “It is what I have decided to call you. It is a good name, and someday, I will tell you a story about Ahweyoh, for the two of you have much in common, I think.”

  “Ahweyoh,” she repeated. “What does it mean? ”

  “Water Lily.”

  As her light-brown eyes sought out his own, she smiled. And it was, indeed, endearing, especially when she proceeded to do the unexpected. She did exactly as he said.

  Nine

  As the events of the morning unfolded, Marisa at last managed to influence Black Eagle into readying one of the horses to carry her and Sarah’s trunks. Except for food, their trunks were, from her viewpoint, the only articles worth taking. Indeed, once she had narrowed her choices to them alone, all that had been required to win Black Eagle to her cause had been a smile.

  Their party, which consisted of herself, Sarah, Richard Thompson and Black Eagle, had left the Rathburn estate much later than originally anticipated. In truth, it was almost noon before they were away.

  Much of the delay, she admitted, was due to her own desire to speak to her guardian. However, it had been to no avail. John Rathburn had not, would not, leave his apartments . . . not even when Marisa had sent him a written note asking to see him.

  True, he was brooding, but his indifference stung. Alas, it had brought her to tears. But in the end, outside of storming his room and forcing him to talk to her, there was little she or anyone else could do. As Sarah had once observed, one couldn’t force another to love them, since, if it were so, all the dreaded tyrants of the world would be beloved instead of loathed.

  Thank goodness for Sarah’s presence in her life. As Marisa glanced toward her friend, her heart stirred. The cuts on Sarah’s face were clean, but they served to strengthen Marisa’s determination to see Sarah safely settled. After all, for so many years, Sarah had been forced to endure living within the house of the man who had caused her much grief. And now James was added to that list. Sarah deserved better.

  When Black Eagle had first seen Sarah, he had stared at her bruises openly. But then he had looked away and had not said a word. It left Marisa wondering if he were fitting the pieces of the puzzle together.

  Marisa took a deep breath and leaned sideways in her saddle. She was tired, having received no sleep the previous night. But the notion of dozing while on the trail was lost to her, due she supposed to the magnificence of the land that surrounded the trail, as
well as to Black Eagle, himself, whose unusual way of dressing was having an effect over her pulse rate.

  Gone was the black tunic and black leggings from last night and early this morning. In its place, Black Eagle wore a dark blue tunic, belted at the waist. The tips of a buckskin breechcloth, which fell between his legs, were barely visible beneath his tunic, while tight-fitting leggings came up high on his thigh to tie to a belt under his shirt. Red beaded garters were tied around those leggings, just under the knee. That this style of dress left an occasional glimpse of his upper thigh and buttocks was heart-stopping from the feminine perspective, and Marisa found herself gazing at him more often than she thought she ought.

  A beaded red blanket laid draped over his left shoulder; it was brought in close to his body and held there by his belt. Also, worn crisscross over his chest were straps that held attached to them pouches for ammunition, as well as a powder horn. There was a tomahawk tucked in securely to his belt and he carried a musket cradled in his arm. Around his neck was a silver gorget as well as a knife case, and there were silver arm bands encircling each arm.

  She sighed. His was a slender figure, yet if memory served her correctly, there was solid muscle beneath his clothing, and as her gaze caught again onto the red blanket draped over his shoulder, a vision of that same blanket, which had been laid out beneath her own body last night, came vividly to mind. Despite herself, she felt the blood rush to her face, and to avert her attention away from him and the memories this man invoked, she gazed out into the woodland environment.

  The trail was flanked on both sides by deep growth and tall trees so numerous, that at times, they seemed to overpower the sun. At present, both Marisa and Sarah were riding sidesaddle, while the third horse carried their supplies. But it was not visible to her at the moment, since Thompson led the animal, and he was pulling up their rear.

  Sarah was lagging behind, Marisa noticed, and reining in her mount, she sent a glance back over her shoulder. She called out, “Sarah, are you all right? ”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered, and brought her horse toward Marisa. “I fear I have been taking too much time admiring the woods. It’s beautiful country, yet, it is quite frightening, as well. I keep imagining unknown Indians behind every tree.”