Authors: Heather Graham
He nearly rammed into her but in time remembered that their child had not been born so long ago. He moved gently … but she spoke no protest, and he cast back his head, encased and shuddering, and groaned out the anguish in his heart and in his loins. She seemed to burst forth with a mercury, arching against him. He forgot everything else but the force of his desire, and he felt the thunder burst free from him, tear across the heavens and
the earth, the blue sky and the verdant pines, and into her.
He cried out, and the sound of her voice rose with his own. The end came to him explosively, fiercely. He arched hard and held, and then fell upon the earth beside her, drained of his lust and his temper all in one, and suddenly, uncomfortably ashamed. He had raped his wife in the forest, upon the pines.
She was silent beside him, breathing hard, staring now at the sky. She made no attempt to adjust her clothing but lay so still that it frightened him.
“Jassy!”
She turned to look at him. There was a soft glaze of tears in her eyes. He swore, furious with himself. Pulling down her skirts, he rose, desperate to be away from her.
“Damn you!” he whispered, his voice shaking. He turned away from the striking and terrible innocence in her crystal-blue eyes, adjusting his breeches. He wanted to explain that she had pushed him to the limit, that no man could watch his wife with other men so long without going over some brink and landing his soul in a pool of dragons. He wanted to say so many things to her. He wanted to say that she had bested him in every way, that he loved her beyond measure. It would sound so very hollow now.…
He leapt to his feet. He did not help her up; he did not think that she was ready to rise.
“I’ll leave you the horse,” he said huskily. “When the
Lady Destiny
sails, I will give you my leave to take Daniel with you to England too.”
“Jamie—” she began.
“I will not force you to stay, madame.” He hesitated briefly. “Good day, milady. I am heartily sorry for my bad manners.”
He left her, disappearing into the woods.
Jassy lay there, feeling the prick of the pines beneath her, for a long time. She listened to the ripple of the brook and felt the sun touch her cheeks through the trees. She brought her fingers to her face and discovered
that her face was damp with her silent tears. How could she have failed so miserably?
She realized numbly that he had given her Daniel. He didn’t even care if he kept their child anymore, he just wanted her to leave.
She closed her eyes, cast her elbow over them, and swallowed hard. He couldn’t have ceased to want her so completely; he could not hate her so vehemently. She had wanted him so badly; she loved him. Loving was worse than the pain of hunger; it was worse than the fear of poverty. It was more painful than anything she had ever known.
She would
not
go. She had to talk to him. She had to make him stand still and listen to her. If she told him that she loved Virginia, that she loved the forest, primeval and so rich and dark, and the river and the Chesapeake Bay and the oysters that they pulled out of it. She loved the palisade, and the way of life, and she never had wanted to return to England. Even if he did not love her, he had to let her stay. She wouldn’t go. She simply wouldn’t do so.
Slowly, painfully, she came to her feet. She adjusted her clothing and tried to smooth down her hair and rid it of the forest floor. He had left her the horse, and he had gone off on foot—where, she did not know.
Wearily she looped her skirts together, took a handful of the horse’s mane, and leapt onto the animal. At a very slow pace she started back toward the palisade. She was young and she was strong, and whatever came, she vowed silently to herself, she would survive. But she could not give up on her husband so easily. She could not.
When she broke slowly from the verdant foliage of the forest, she saw the palisade rising before her in the sunlight. No, it was not London, it was not Oxford, it was not even the Crossroads Inn. No grand Gothic or Renaissance buildings rose in mighty splendor against the coming of the morning. Yet what stood there was finer in its way, for what it was, was what men had built from a raw wilderness, and it was composed of blood
and sweat and dreams of the future. The palisade was strong, and beyond it lay the church and her house and the potter’s kilns and the blacksmith’s shop and the homes of them all.
The gates of the palisade were open, welcoming visitors on the holy day. By the outer wall, one of the young farmers was cutting wood. A Pamunkee Indian was at his side, stacking the logs as the farmer cut them.
Then, suddenly, the Pamunkee snatched the ax from the young farmer and sank the sharp-bladed instrument right into the man’s skull.
Jassy opened her mouth in horror, but her astonishment caused her to choke on her cry. Shocked, she reined in on the horse, disbelieving what she had seen with her own eyes.
The farmer clutched his head, fell to his knees, then fell flat, the ax still imbedded in his head. The Pamunkee calmly stepped over him to retrieve the ax, and looked toward the open palisade.
Jassy’s limbs seemed to freeze, inch by inch. The cold and numbness overcame her, then struck pure icy terror into the very center of her heart.
“No!” At last her scream tore from her, and Jassy kicked the horse hard into a gallop, her mind racing. It was not just the horror of the murder she had witnessed. It had been the way in which it had taken place. The Pamunkee had stood with the farmer as his friend. They had been laughing, and then the Indian had grabbed the weapon and slain the man … then retrieved the weapon and looked toward the palisade.
How many of the Pamunkees were already inside the gates? They had been coming all morning—in friendship. Was it an isolated incident? Had the Indian gone mad?
Earth churned and flew as Jassy sped toward the gates. The Indian who had accomplished the murder was just nearing the palisade. He swung around, the ax in his hand dripping blood, and stared at her.
“Help! Sound the alarm!” she screamed. The blade looked lethal. She tried not to stare down at the dead
body of the farmer. She urged the skittish horse around the body and kept her eyes upon the Indian. “Sound the alarm!” she screamed, hoping someone would hear her.
From somewhere deep within the compound came the sound of a scream. She and the Indian stared at each other warily. Jassy jammed her heels into the horse’s flanks, and the animal reared, then bolted past the Pamunkee. She heard the sound of another scream, then she saw one of the soldiers come out of the guardhouse. He was wearing his helmet and his half-armor. He wore a look of wide-eyed shock as he stumbled out before Jassy, clutching his stomach. She realized that he held the shaft of a knife there. He had been skewered with his own weapon.
Jassy screamed herself. Another of the guards came out of the little house. “The alarm!” she shouted.
It was too late, for the two Indians had set upon the guard already. He battled them with a vengeance.
Still atop the nervous and rearing horse, Jassy looked toward the inner working steps of the palisade, those leading to the bell alarm and the cannon facing westward.
The cannon would do them little good. The enemy had come at them from within.
She had to reach the steps, and she had to sound the alarm.
Then she had to get home; she had to get back to her house. Daniel lay sleeping there. Elizabeth was there, and Amy Lawton and the girls. She had to get home, and she had to find a way to warn Lenore and Robert.
A man wearing a hastily donned shirt of chain mail came bursting wildly out of the guardhouse. Jassy saw that it was Robert Maxwell.
“Robert!”
He didn’t hear her at first. He was looking sickly at the dead man with the knife protruding from his gut, below his half-armor. He stared at him, the knife he carried himself held in a white-knuckled grip, his features as pale as new snow.
“Robert!” she called again. He still didn’t hear her. He
was in shock, she realized. “Robert!” Jassy urged the horse over to him. Still, he did not look up. She leapt down and shook him. “Robert! We have to sound the alarm. People have to know; they have to prepare. They have to fight back. We have to reach our houses.… Robert, the
alarm
!”
She slapped him, hard. He looked at her at last. “Oh, Jassy!” He was falling apart, she realized. He would be no help to her. She gave him a fierce shove. “Go, hurry! Warn them at my house, and hurry on to your own. I’m going to sound the alarm.”
At last he moved. He looked back and saw the single guard still trying to fight off the two Indians. Jassy wondered if she should help him first, then she realized with a curious numbness that she might be killed, and if she were killed, she could never sound the alarm. She pushed away from the horse and went racing to the steps. She tore up them to the roof tower.
Just beyond the top step, at the tower door, stood one of the Indians. His chest was naked, and his well-muscled arms were laden with various tattoos. He wore only a breechclout, white goose feathers in his hair, and a necklace with a rawhide cord. He looked at Jassy and smiled slowly, awaiting her. She looked beyond him. Another of their armed men lay dead. He had been bashed on the head with a cannonball.
The murders were certainly not isolated incidents, Jassy thought furiously. The Indians had come to kill the white men. They were killing the settlers with their own weapons. They were killing them with anything at all that they could find at hand.
And the man at the tower meant to kill her.
Screams were rising now, near the gate. Soon everyone would know. Soon they would all realize the treachery … soon, as they lay dying.
“No!” Jassy screamed in a frenzy. She hurtled herself at the Indian with all her strength, and they toppled to the ground together.
Her attack upon the man had been a mistake. The warm, brown body that fell over hers was hard and
powerful and relentless. She bit and she kicked and she struggled fiercely, but to little avail. The Indian was young and wire-sinewed, proud of his health and strength and entirely in his prime. She was strong, too, she knew. She clawed and scratched and caused him some injury, but she really had no chance, not from the very beginning.
He pressed his knee into her midriff, and all the air went out of her. Almond-dark eyes met hers with a glitter of amusement, and she knew that her fight was such a feeble one that he was enjoying the whole of it. He reached to his ankle, producing a knife from a rawhide sheath. He took hold of a strand of Jassy’s hair and stared upon it for a moment, bemused. Jassy realized that she was about to be scalped.
She screamed, twisting and fighting in renewed fury.
Suddenly there was the soft and curious sound of a sickening thud. Blood spilled over Jassy’s beautiful spring dress.
The amusement left the brave’s eyes. He stared at her blankly, and she saw that a knife shaft protruded from the center of his bare chest. He grasped for it, his fingers convulsed, and then he went dead still and toppled over on her. She screamed, shoving him aside, and then she looked down the length of the ladder.
Jamie was there. His booted foot rested upon one of the steps, from where he had so swiftly and accurately sent the knife flying to kill the Indian. His eyes met hers, and despite the bloodshed, she trembled. He was solid like rock, as agile and stealthy as the Indians who knew their land so well. He was there for her, tall upon the steps, dark and fierce. He would never panic; he would always meet what came his way with dignity and undauntable courage. She had come to recognize and love the man that he was … perhaps
really
too late.
He moved and came racing up the steps toward her. He wrenched her to her feet. “What are you doing? What the
hell
are you doing! You should be back at the house, safe with Daniel!” His voice thundered; he was shaking with anger. He bent and retrieved his knife from the
dead brave. He wiped the blade on his trousers and shoved the knife back into the sheath at his calf.
She was stunned, Jassy realized. As slow and as worthless as Robert. “The alarm! Someone has—”
He stepped by her and pulled hard on the bell cord. The sound began to peal, loud and strong. “Come on!” Jamie urged.
He dragged her down the steps into the compound. Three of the Indians were at the foot of the ladder. Like the Indian at the tower, these men were barely clad. They did not notice the cool breezes of the spring morning. One of them wore paint over his cheeks. They all stared at Jamie, tensing and bracing themselves for the fight.
It would be with knives. Twisting their blades in their hands, they stared at Jamie.
Jamie, warily keeping his eyes upon the Indians, shoved Jassy behind him.
“Get away! Hide! Find somewhere safe and stay there!”
“No—”
“Jamie!” came a booming male voice behind them. Sir William! It was Sir William Tybalt, alerted by the alarm! Jamie would no longer face their enemies alone.
“William!” Jamie said. He shoved Jassy quickly toward his friend. “Get her out of here.”
“No! He must fight with you—” Jassy protested.
“William, take her. You are sworn to obey me, and I order you to take her out of here.” He stared hard at Jassy. “When it starts, run from behind me. Get to the house. Get Daniel and Elizabeth and the others and make your way to the church. It’s the only building of brick, and it is fortified. There are muskets in the back pews, and swords in the deacon’s benches.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Come, my lady—” Sir William began. He had a firm grip upon her. He was Jamie’s man, and would defend and obey him until the very end, that much she knew.
“I can’t leave you!” she screamed again to Jamie.
“You have to leave me!”
“Jamie!”
She tried to hold on to his arm as they faced the Indians. Sir William pulled her away. Wetness streamed down her cheeks. She wanted to talk to Jamie. They were facing death, and there was no time to say anything, and she was choking on the tears that tasted of blood and metal in her mouth.