Major MacKinnon began to speak in English. “My brother Joseph Aupauteunk of the Mahican tells Katakwa that we are sorry for his suffering and that we know his anger with the English must be as great as his grief. Joseph thanks Grannie Clear Water and Katakwa’s sisters for their care of you.”
Sarah glanced covertly to the women on each side of her, feeling a spark of anger, the skin between her thighs tender where they’d plucked it bare. These were Katakwa’s sisters? Now she understood. Their gentleness and seeming kindness had been their way of welcoming her into their family as they prepared her for their brother.
But Major MacKinnon was speaking again. “Joseph tells them you are the great-granddaughter of the English king and the niece of the English war chief Wentworth. He warns that Katakwa would gain much through ransomin’ you, but naugh’ by keepin’ you, for Wentworth will certainly bring his soldiers to punish the Shawnee.”
Then Katakwa, clearly angered, spoke, gesturing toward her.
Major MacKinnon went on. “Katakwa says it was not his vow to get ransom from the English, but to take back what was stolen from him. Only through blood or the taking of a wife can his oath be kept. If the English make war upon them, he is happy to call on the French, the Huron, and the Abenaki to fight beside him.”
Finding it hard to breathe, Sarah listened to Major MacKinnon as Joseph argued that the Shawnee should return her to her uncle, Katakwa countering him at every turn.
When Joseph said that Sarah had royal blood and was intended for marriage with an Englishman of equal rank, Katakwa said that he was war chief and that her royal blood made her worthy to be his wife.
When Joseph said the blood debt had been paid in the deaths of the others at the river and that keeping Sarah went beyond Katakwa’s vow, Katakwa told his chief that none of those who had died had been slain by his hand.
When Joseph said it was the custom for English fathers to choose their daughter’s husbands, Katakwa said that the ways of Sarah’s English fathers no longer mattered because she was Shawnee, not English, and subject to Shawnee ways.
When Joseph warned them that keeping Sarah would lead to more grief for the Shawnee as English soldiers came and slew their loved ones, Katakwa said the English, too, would find their grief multiplied as they wasted many warriors to rescue one woman. Besides, the Shawnee could move the village so that the English could not easily find them, so what need had they to fear the English?
When Joseph told the chief that Katakwa did not care for Sarah the way a man should care for his wife and that he feared Katakwa would ravish and beat her, the chief’s response, delivered in Major MacKinnon’s Scottish burr, chilled Sarah to her marrow.
“Once she has borne him children, his heart will soften. ’Tis the way of men.”
Bear him children?
And Sarah knew.
The chief had already made her decision.
Sarah’s head began to spin, her heart beating painfully against her breast. She looked to Joseph and Major MacKinnon only to find their expressions grim.
“Easy, lass.” Major MacKinnon looked over at her. “Hope is no’ lost.”
But there was a tension about him that said otherwise.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Then Katakwa stood and addressed his chief, his words making everyone laugh—everyone apart from Joseph and Major MacKinnon.
In a single motion, Major MacKinnon rose to his feet. Standing taller than any man in the hall, he spoke to Katakwa in a cold voice, his expression hard, his hands clenched into fists.
Chaos.
Men and women jumped to their feet, and everyone seemed to be shouting, apart from Major MacKinnon and Katakwa, who glared at each other in stony silence. Joseph and the chief were silent, too, Joseph standing beside Major MacKinnon, his hand on the major’s arm as if to restrain him.
What had happened?
Sarah waited for Major MacKinnon to tell her, but his gaze remained fixed on Katakwa. Then the chief struggled to her feet and raised a hand for silence, the sudden quiet drowned out by the thundering of Sarah’s pulse. The old woman spoke—just a few words.
And then it was over.
People moved as one toward the doorway. Major MacKinnon and Joseph spoke quietly together, their expressions grave. Katakwa said something to his sisters, then turned and walked outside, the men who’d entered with him following close behind.
“What has happened? Major MacKinnon, what—”
Sarah found herself being dragged to her feet, Katakwa’s sisters leading her around the fire at the center of the hall and toward the door, speaking in angry voices, their fingers digging sharply into her arms, the leather wrap they’d given her sliding to the floor as they hurried her along, leaving her breasts fully exposed.
And then Major MacKinnon was there, barring their way. He said nothing to her, but traded sharp words with Katakwa’s sisters, who at last released her.
Was she free?
“I regret all that you have suffered, my lady.” Major MacKinnon quickly unbuttoned his shirt, drew it off, and wrapped it around her bare shoulders. “This should put you at greater ease.”
Sarah wasted no time donning the garment, her trembling fingers moving quickly over the buttons. It was too large by far, but it covered her, restoring some sense of modesty, the homespun cloth warm from the heat of his skin and smelling of forest and leather.
She looked up to find Major MacKinnon watching her, his chest bare, dark curls scattered lightly over a broad expanse of muscle, Indian markings etched into his arms. A rosary of wooden beads with a small cross hung about his neck, bands of purple shell on his upper arms.
She felt her cheeks blaze to know that he had seen her in a like state—half naked, bare-breasted. “I am most grateful to you, sir. I shall not forget your kindness. But what has happened? Am I free?”
“The matter is no’ yet decided.” His dark blue eyes gazed intently into hers. “Listen carefully, lass. I have challenged Katakwa to a fight for your hand. If I am defeated, you will become his wife, at least for a time.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to object, but he cut across her.
“You need to be settin’ your pride aside and thinkin’ of your survival. If I am defeated, he
will
claim you, and there will be naugh’ anyone can do to stop him. Obey him. Dinnae fight him. He may be rough wi’ you at first, but that will change. Joseph will return to Albany, gather his warriors and my Rangers, and come back for you. But it is likely the Shawnee will move the village afore he returns. It could be many months or even years ere you are free again. Do you understand?”
Sarah struggled to comprehend all he’d said. It was happening so quickly. Two days ago, she had never seen an Indian. Now she was in grave danger of being forced to marry one. “If Katakwa defeats you, you will simply yield and let him have me? My uncle would—”
“Your uncle is leagues away and could do naugh’ to stop this were he standin’ here beside you.” For a moment, he seemed angry, then his gaze grew gentle. “If Katakwa defeats me, lass, I willna be able to aid you further because I’ll be dead.”
“Y
ou are taller, stronger, and have a longer reach, but he has speed. This is his village, so he will feel the strength of his people surrounding him.”
Connor sharpened his hunting knife, listening to Joseph’s counsel. “How many battles has he fought?”
“I do not think he has your experience, but it is hard to say. I cannot tell truth from his warriors’ boasting.” Joseph paused.
“You did not need to do this. The challenge he made was to Wentworth, not to you.”
Katakwa had stood and shouted to the room that if Wentworth wanted his niece to marry some other warrior, he should send that man to fight Katakwa for her. Katakwa had meant it in jest, but Connor had seen it as the chance he needed. He’d jumped to his feet and accepted the challenge, leaving Katakwa no choice but to honor what he’d just said in front of his entire village or appear a coward.
“Wentworth is no’ here. I am.” Connor set aside the sharpening stone, tested the blade with his thumb, and drew blood. It was sharp enough to cleave grass. “You ken as well as I that the old woman was about to gi’ the lass to him. I couldna let that happen. If I win, Lady Sarah goes free. If I lose, I’ll be dead and willna have to see the terror in her eyes when she is handed over to him to be ravished.”
“If you win, she’ll be your
wife
. Did you not listen to Grannie Clear Water? She means to celebrate a wedding tonight no matter who is the victor. And if you lose, I’ll have to tell Iain and Morgan that I stood by and watched you die.”
Connor heard the worry in Joseph’s voice. “If I am slain, then at least my brothers will ken I died a man, and if I win…The old bat can celebrate a wedding if she wishes, but she cannae make me consummate it.”
Joseph looked for a moment as if he was about to say something, but whatever it was, he held his tongue. “Don’t be so aggressive that you let him draw you off balance. Watch his feet. I saw him trip an opponent practicing earlier today. Forget you are a man. Loose the animal you hide inside. Kill Katakwa, Connor, for he will do all he can to kill you.”
Connor sheathed his knife, his gaze locked with Joseph’s. The two of them had never spoken of those dark days—or of the blood-hungry beast that lived inside Connor—and Connor’s anger with Joseph for resurrecting those memories was sharp. “Dinnae speak of that!”
But Joseph met his gaze unflinching. “I wish only for my brother to live out this day.”
Connor’s rage broke. He rested his hand on his blood brother’s shoulder. “Forgi’e me. You’re a good man, Joseph, and a brave warrior. Iain, Morgan, and I were given no choice but to fight in this war, but you could have stayed out of it. You chose
instead to fight wi’ us, and even now when Iain and Morgan have been released, you stay at my side, enduring peril. I am proud to call you brother.”
Joseph rested his hand atop Connor’s. “As I am proud of you.”
They embraced, clapping each other on the back.
Then Connor removed the wooden rosary from around his neck, kissed the little cross, and said a quick Hail Mary, crossing himself before handing the rosary to Joseph. “See that she gets this, aye? If I am slain, perhaps it will give her comfort in her captivity.”
Joseph looked down at the rosary, his fingers closing tightly around it.
One of Katakwa’s men, a warrior the people called Chilosee, appeared. “Come, Mack-inn-on. It is time for you to die.”
Connor shot Joseph a grin. “Let’s no’ keep the devil waitin’.”
He walked with Joseph beside him to the center of the village, where everyone had gathered, his senses heightened as they always were before a battle. The expectant whispers of the crowd. The scent of wood smoke. The cry of a raven as it stretched its black wings against a sunless sky. The chill of the wind against his bare skin. The rhythm of his own heartbeat.
“Kill him, Connor.” Joseph looked gravely into Connor’s eyes, then clapped him once more on the back and walked away.
How strange it would be if Connor’s life were to end here today, a rush of blood and pain sending him off to hell. He thought of the two newborn nephews he hadn’t yet seen and felt strangely reassured by the fact that he would be remembered, that his name would go on in wee Connor Joseph, even if he did not. And then he saw her.
Lady Sarah stood beside Grannie Clear Water, her head high, her gaze fixed on him, fear and hope in equal measure on her bruised and beautiful face. She looked so young, his shirt so big on her that she’d had to roll up the sleeves to free her hands, its hems hanging well past her hips. He watched as Joseph came to stand beside her and discreetly slipped the rosary into her hand. Her fingers closed around it, and she looked down into her palm, her surprised gaze seeking Connor’s once more as she clutched the rosary to her breast.
He gave her a slight bow of his head. “My lady.”
“God bless and protect you, sir.” Her words were little more than a whisper.
“And you, lass.”
He turned to face Katakwa, who stood across from him, proud and confident of his victory, his men gathered behind him. Like Connor, he was now shirtless, a knife in one hand, a tomahawk in the other. Connor tried to dismiss from his mind the pity he’d felt earlier for the man who’d lost his wife and to replace it with rage toward the man who wanted to take Lady Sarah to wife against her will. He thought of the two innocents who lay dead in the frozen forest—Lady Sarah had called them Jane and Thomas—and let his rage build.
Then out of nowhere it came. In his mind, he saw the French lad’s frightened face as clearly as if it were happening now—brown eyes wide with terror, mouth opening to let out a scream, youthful features twisted in agony as the blade sank into his chest.
Connor’s blade.
“Ne me tuez pas! Ne me tuez pas!” Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me!
Regret made Connor’s stomach churn, his heart slamming in his chest.
You’re a savage, lad.
Aye, he was.
He swallowed, fighting to shake off the memory. If he wanted to spare the lass, he needed to clear his mind and focus on the present, not the past and ill deeds he could not change. He could not save the dead, any more than he could save his own soul.
But he could save her.
Grannie Clear Water stepped forward. “Katakwa, war chief of the Mequachake Shawnee, and Mack-inn-on, blood brother to the Muhheconneok, now fight for this captive, with the victor claiming her as his wife tonight. Let no one here interfere until one of these men has drawn his last breath.”
Connor tested the weight of his weapons, their wooden grips familiar in his hands, then spoke the motto of his clan.
“Audentes fortuna iuvat.”
Fortune assists the daring.
He met Katawka’s gaze, willed his mind to focus, every
muscle in his body ready to spring as the two of them began to circle each other, taking each other’s measure.
It was Katakwa who moved first, lunging at Connor, narrowly missing Connor’s chest with his knife, the tip catching Connor’s right arm, drawing first blood.