Authors: Beth Trissel
"I even made you laugh. I like this sound."
He stood still, and she broke the circle of her arms to tilt back and look at him again. The fierce stripes of red and black paint were gone, fully revealing his smooth light brown skin. “You washed your face."
His small smile faded, and he cocked his head a little. “The paint frightened you."
"Yes.” How could she begin to understand this warrior who'd helped attack the McLeod's homestead and carried her away? He could be stern and harsh, yet also gentle, even funny. And now, he was trying to ease her fear of him.
He remained as he was and made no move to return her to her feet. “There is much you do not know of me, Charity."
"How do you guess my thoughts? You've done this before."
"A warrior must see in the face what lies in the heart. This is why we are careful to guard our thoughts."
"Why don't you want others to know?"
A hawk shrilled overhead as he answered. “Much danger lies in this."
"I don't know how to hide mine."
"No. Like clouds making shadows over the earth, your face changes to show what you think."
"It's just as well I haven't any secrets, then."
His eyes looked deeply into hers. “None?"
"Perhaps I've a few.” Suddenly self-conscious, she squirmed under his forceful gaze. “Would you put me down?"
"One moment.” He drew her into a more intimate embrace, and nuzzled her hair. “So soft you are."
His tenderness took her completely by surprise. She hardly knew what to say. “How do you mean?"
"Your face, your hair, your body...everywhere you are soft.” His lips drifted over her cheek toward her mouth.
She tensed. Was Wicomechee about to kiss her?
"Posetha,” he groaned, and nodded toward the spruce.
The young brave was just visible among the evergreens with a bedroll tucked under one arm. He stepped into their sheltered space and considered them, dark brows arched.
What must he think, catching them like this? It was pure madness. “Mechee's just seeing how heavy I am,” she blurted out, immediately wishing she'd bitten her tongue.
He surveyed them with a skeptical air. “She is heavy?"
Wicomechee lowered her to her feet. “Like the bear."
Posetha's lips twitched. “Waupee told me to seek you out. He wants to know how I find Charity."
She smoothed stray needles from her skirts self-consciously. “Please, just tell him I do not suffer."
"I say you suffer little in Wicomechee's arms."
Charity felt herself flush.
Posetha touched her shoulder. “I will not speak this. I have gift for you.” He held out a wooden comb and pointed to the maple leaves he'd carved along the side. “Red leaves, for your hair. See?"
She smiled. “
Megwich.
It's a good gift.
Gitchee
."
Wicomechee considered his friend with narrowing eyes. “How much were you with her today?"
Posetha lifted both hands as if to show his innocence. “Little. She learns Shawnee fast."
"She also runs fast. Why did you not keep her from the Long Knife?"
Posetha glanced away from him. “I did not know she would run to this captive."
"I have known Rob Buchanan since childhood. Was I to stand by and watch him beaten to death?” Charity reasoned.
Wicomechee shifted his disapproval to her. “You must not go to him again. Not go to any captive."
"But what if I can help someone?"
"No. Do you learn nothing?"
She lifted her chin and angled her head at Posetha. “Does Rob Buchanan, the Long Knife, still live?"
"Yes. Outhowwa says he will adopt this captive."
She glowed with vindication. “See, Mechee, I saved him."
He grasped her shoulders and swiveled her to face him. “You did not save him. I persuaded Outhowwa."
"If I hadn't gone to Rob, he would have been dead before you got there."
Wicomechee tightened his grip on her upper arms. “If I had come any later, you also would be dead. Never interfere again. Give me your word you will not."
"How can I promise never?"
His demeanor was severe. “You must. I will not lose you to Outhowwa's anger. If you do not obey me, I will bind you."
"No. Please. I hated that, and the awful way Rob's neck was tied."
"I would never rope your fair neck,” he promised. “But I will do what I must to keep you safe. Will you heed me?"
She nodded, unwilling to test her boundaries any farther.
"Charity has courage,” Posetha said. His youthful features drew together in an expression of self-disgust. “I left her to Outhowwa's anger."
"You did all you could for me. I am grateful."
"I failed you.” He kicked at the thick carpet of needles. “Outhowwa called me a boy before all."
"You must prove yourself to him,” Wicomechee said.
Posetha lifted his shoulders. “I will find a way.” Laying his bundle down on the forest floor, he added, “I brought a blanket, food. Waupee speaks with Outhowwa for you, says you must stay far from Outhowwa tonight. Perhaps tomorrow his anger will cool."
A fresh tide of dread flooded Charity. “Why is he still so angry with me?"
Wicomechee slid his hands over her cloak, down her arms. “Because of you, three warriors challenged Outhowwa. He cannot do as he likes. You must not increase his anger."
"Colin isn't a real warrior, is he?"
"You think not? He fought with us at Bushy Run against British forces led by Colonel Henry Bouquet."
She'd heard of this battle in western Pennsylvania and tried to imagine Colin firing from the trees, fighting alongside Wicomechee. Beyond shocked, she sputtered, “Colin—Waupee—is kind to us."
"You have not seen him in battle,” Wicomechee snorted. “He is not kind then."
Posetha gave a nod. “I have no wish to fight him."
"But to war against Englishmen? How could he do this?"
"They are our bitter enemy,” Wicomechee said bluntly.
She sighed, wearied to death of the endless hostilities. “Will Shawnee and the English never be friends?"
Wicomechee looked at her as though she'd suggested they make a pact with the devil. “How are we to befriend men who do not speak the truth? Foxes have more honor."
"Not all English are bad, Mechee."
The hard edges at his mouth softened like the earth after a rain. “Not all. The one who calls me by this name is not."
She faltered in the face of his sudden tenderness. “I'm not entirely English. Papa was, but Mama was Scottish. The Scots have fought many bloody wars with England."
"Virginia Long Knives fight for the English,” he pointed out.
"Even so, we are not content under British rule."
He shrugged. “English, Scot, all are glad to kill us."
A pang of sorrow knifed through her. “I wish it were otherwise. What's the use in all of this death?"
Wonder diminished the skepticism in his eyes. “You have much mercy. You would be a good Quaker woman."
"I could never be
that
forgiving."
His lips curved in a wider smile that flowed into his eyes and made him, in that moment, the most amazingly attractive man she'd ever seen. She realized, just as quickly, that her traitorous heart was in grave danger.
"Only for you am I forgiving,” he said.
Posetha smiled. “Wicomechee is not kind in battle."
"Nor you,
niNeeakah
, my friend."
She could well imagine. Though not as tall or broad as Wicomechee, Posetha was muscular and agile. She'd felt his strength when he wrenched her from Rob. And Wicomechee was like a sleek, swift panther with head-snapping power.
Teasing touched his eyes. “Will you teach us to be gentle in battle?"
She answered in a somber tone. “I've never seen a battle. Nor do I wish to."
The hint of mischief faded from his expression. “It is not for your fair eyes to see."
With appalling fury, a dark dread seized her with the violence of a sudden storm. And like the memory of a vile scent never forgotten, she knew this dire sense of foreboding. She'd sensed her father's passing on that distant battlefield and felt the approach of something terrible just days before her brother Craig had died. Her thoughts swirled back to his final moments as he lay tossing with fever.
Craig's pale face disappeared and the rapport of musket fire resounded in her mind. The smoky gunpowder clouded warriors, their upraised hands wielding bloody knives and tomahawks. Agonizing screams tore from the frontiersmen twisting in the grass. Too shaken to speak, she sucked in shallow pants of air.
"Charity?” Wicomechee's voice came to her as if from a distance.
Weak-kneed, she instinctively reached out and closed her arms around his chest. Rather than trying to escape him as she'd done hours ago, she clung to him like a drowning woman.
He enfolded her in turn. “Are you taken ill?"
As swiftly as the horrific images had come, they departed. She shook her head and pressed her face against his shirt, stained with her blood. She felt his warmth, heard the steady beat of his heart.
"I go now, tell Waupee two trees could not grow more close than Charity stands to Wicomechee,” Posetha said.
She no longer cared what tale he carried to the others, and sensed the puzzled warrior departing.
"Why do you hold to me in fear?” Wicomechee asked.
"I had the strongest feeling, like a warning, come over me when we spoke of battle. Then I saw men fighting, dying."
"Never will I take you to war, sweet one. Our women and little ones remain in the village."
She fought to steady herself. “This battle may come upon us suddenly."
"Long Knives?"
"Perhaps. I saw militia and warriors fighting."
"Have you the sight?” he asked.
"What is this?"
"The knowing of what will be. Of what is to come."
She lifted her eyes to his perceptive gaze. “Sometimes."
"Only evil things?"
She started to nod and hesitated, flushing at the memory of her dream. “Not only bad. Good, also."
He searched her face. “What else did you see?"
"Just a dream...of a man."
"You know him?"
Her cheeks grew increasingly heated. “I might."
Amusement crept into Wicomechee's expression. “What did he do?"
"Nothing—much."
A slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “You are a bad liar."
She fervently wished she were better and looked away.
"Do not fear battle. I will keep you safe. Come with me now.” Wicomechee's arms slacked and he eased his support.
Weighted with conflicting emotions, she lowered her arms with a little reluctance, also unsettling. “Where?"
"Not far.” He grabbed up his musket, slipped its woven strap over his shoulder, and stepped ahead.
She limped behind him through the evergreens, emerging from their shelter to the full force of the wind. Stiff breezes tore at her cloak and petticoats, billowing the cloth around her. She beat at her skirts, but the wind exposed her thighs with every gust.
Wicomechee turned, and grinned.
"You brought me here on purpose!"
He chuckled. “Not for this, though I like it much."
"Don't look at me,” she protested, and spun away.
"Stay.” He caught her around the waist and swept her up off the ground, keeping one arm over the flapping cloth. “Why such shame? You are
paca
, beautiful."
Mortified at what he'd seen, she said, “Not
there.
"
A smile spread over his face. “You know little of men."
Surefooted as a deer, he picked his way over the rocky path and between the stones littering the trail. Here and there, clumps of grass bent in the constant wind and stunted pines struggled to grow, but plants thinned out and the stones became more prominent. He rounded the boulder blocking her sight and she saw he was carrying her near the edge of a cliff.
"Mechee!” she screeched, her embarrassment forgotten at the yawning chasm rushing up at her. She threw her arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. But even his strength wasn't equal to this. “We'll tumble over the edge!"
"No,” he said, projecting his voice above the wind. He stopped on the massive ledge jutting out over the vast expanse like a rocky fortress. “Look. The hawk circles below."
"Dear God.” She'd never been above a hawk.
Pushing back the hair whipping across her face, she gazed out over the mountains in awe. Blue-green ridges flowed beneath her in an undulating sea that seemed to go on and on forever. Shafts of late day sun shone on the nearest crests and burnished the splashes of red and gold leaves. Beyond these gilded rises, the dark blue swells were swallowed in purple shadows.
The distant ridges seemed to beckon her on to a mysterious realm, an untamed world. “'Tis a wondrous sight."
"Yes. This is where I kept watch today."
"You heard me call to you from all the way up here? It must be miles."
"I ran very fast."
He truly must have. She owed him at least a grudging appreciation. “Thank you for saving my life."
He returned his gaze to her, hair blowing around his face, and nodded then pointed to a place where the trail snaked up the side of the ridge among the rocks. Trees were sparse. “If the Long Knives come, I will see them there."
Her trepidation rushed back with the accompanying stab of disloyalty. “Will they come today?"
"It would be foolish to seek us now. Darkness will soon be upon us."
"Captain Buchanan will come, though, and bring as many men with him as he can muster. Rob is dear to him."
"The captain will also fight for your return, will he not? You are the woman his son desires."
"Yes,” she said, without any spark of enthusiasm.
"You do not wish to be recovered?"
She kept her eyes from Wicomechee's and focused on a ridge flaming in the last rays of the sun. “Of course. Only..."
"You do not want to wed Rob Buchanan,” he concluded. “Are you promised to him?"
"Uncle John gave his consent. If Captain Buchanan takes us back I will be expected to wed Rob."
"Have you no other family to aid you?"