The Captive Heart (23 page)

Trapped? He chuckled. “For your safety, no doubt. What were you doing when he came?”

“I thought to make a small garden, plant some herbs …” Her fingers fluttered out.

He followed the movement. On the far side of the yard, close to the edge of the woods, small mounds of red dirt dried in the sunshine like heaps of forgotten bones. What a strange woman he’d married.

“Why would you do that?” he asked. “There’s enough vegetation out in the woods to fill your belly ten times over.”

Her freckles faded, masked by the pink spreading over her cheeks. “Oh. I … I did not know.”

“Speak with your woman later.” Inoli unfolded his arms. “If we hope to end this rampage before dark, my brother, we need to go now.”

Weariness crawled under his skin. He’d trade tracking a killer bear for a mug of ale and a crust of bread—but Red Bird didn’t bake worth a holler, and the rogue’s taste for blood increased the longer it lived.

He whistled between his teeth, short and sharp. Wohali trotted over, flicking her tail. He grabbed the lead and handed it to Inoli. “You’re riding.”

A storm brewed in the blackness of Inoli’s eyes.

Samuel held up a hand. “I just spent four days with a pack of fools. I’m in no mood to argue with you. Either you ride, or I go alone.”

A muscle on Inoli’s neck stood out, but only for a moment. Without another word, he swung his injured leg up and over the mount’s back, gaining the saddle.

Red Bird frowned. “What is going on?”

Samuel strode past her, taking the stairs in a long-legged leap. Swishing skirts trailed him. He toyed with the idea of informing her about the bear, but why? The woman was skittish enough without adding to her fears. No, she did not need to know the details of that beast.

“I need fresh supplies.” He unlocked the wooden chest and pulled out a pouch of shot and more gunpowder.

“Do not tell me you are leaving again.”

He slammed the lid shut, then went on to raid the crock of pemmican, grab some leftover johnnycake—stale and dry—and stalk to the door. “All right. I won’t.”

“Samuel!”

He wheeled about so quickly, his boots skidded on the porch’s wooden slats. “Well, well. Glad to hear you’ve finally gotten around to using my proper name. Next thing you know, you’ll be asking for that kiss.”

Her face blanched, then flamed into life, nearly matching the fire of her hair.

A smile played on his lips. Why was it so satisfying to make the woman blush?

“Ya’nu, we go now.”

Inoli’s voice was a chill wind at his back, pulling him to the matter at hand. He cleared the stairs and swept up Grace. “You mind, you hear?”

Her little head bobbed. He set her on the steps and lifted his face to Red Bird. “And you stay in the cabin until I return, understand?”

Her shoulders pulled taut, like a sail in the wind—and an angry gale at that, judging by the ferocious scowl drawing her brow into a line. “I am not a dog to be ordered about, sir.”

He snorted. “That sure didn’t last long.”

“What?”

“You calling me Samuel.”

Her lips pinched tight, and if he cared to look, he just might see her fingers coiling into fists. But he spun on his heel and tramped across the yard.

Wohali’s hooves clopped after him. “Your woman looks to kill. Maybe she ought come along.”

He smirked over his shoulder. “I don’t think the bear would be the one in danger.”

Eleanor watched the two men disappear into the wild, staring until nothing but sunrays and shadows moved along the path they’d taken. Emotions chased one after the other, like a dog after its own tail. Relief that the fearsome Inoli was gone. Confusion that Samuel called the dark-skinned fellow his brother. Anger—accompanied by a small feeling of being valued—at Samuel’s dismissive commands. And for some odd reason, a cold, hard terror lodging deep in her stomach. There was something Samuel wasn’t telling her.

A frown twisted her mouth. There was always something he wasn’t telling her.

“Drink, Ama?”

Grace’s pet name for her turned Eleanor’s face from the wild to the child. Grace squatted by the water bucket, peering up at her over the rim.

“You know how to use the dipper, little one. You may get your own drink.”

The girl shook her head. “No drink.”

Turning her back on the wilderness, she crossed over to Grace. Usually the girl loved to play in the water bucket, serving herself and make-believe companions so much water that it drenched her dress. Perhaps after seeing her papa for only a few minutes, Grace felt as out of sorts as she did.

She drew near to help—but the water bucket was empty.

“Drink?” Grace repeated.

La! What to do? Samuel had hardly been gone ten minutes. Should she disregard his wishes so soon? She could grab the bucket and refill it in a thrice with a quick trip to the creek. But what would he say if he returned for some forgotten item and found her gone?

She bit her lip. She knew exactly what he’d say, for his anger, when unleashed, left welts on her heart. He may have a fierce friend in Inoli, but the man was savage himself when crossed.

She held out her hand. “Come along, Grace. We shall find something to do inside until your papa returns home. Hopefully he will not be gone long.”

But he was. The afternoon dragged. Grace alternated between crying for water and screaming for her papa. Eleanor preferred the crying. Surely the girl would collapse from the effort, pop her thumb into her mouth, and doze off. Where had the sweet-tempered child of only a few months ago gone? Eleanor calculated as she searched out the window for the hundredth time. If she’d arrived from England nine weeks ago or so, as near as she could tell—though maybe more like ten or eleven—and Grace had been a little over a year and a half at the time, then … She drummed her fingers on the rough wooden sill. Of course. The girl must be two years old now. Life was about to get very interesting—and tiring. She’d have to pick her battles with the care of an infantryman. Behind her, Grace wailed again. The day had been long, but a full night of weeping would be an eternity. It appeared this skirmish would go to the child.

Eleanor whirled from the window. “All right, little one. There is no telling if your papa will be home before dark, and the shadows are already knitting themselves together. I shall go get your drink.”

Snatching her pistol off the shelf, she tucked it into her pocket, along with the powder horn. Then with a firm, “Stay here,” to Grace, she slipped through the front door and retrieved the bucket.

The day’s heat left a haze in the air. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Surely she could blame that on the heat, could she not? She crossed the yard unafraid, but as she drew nearer the creek, an old companion joined her, wrapping its arms tight around her chest. Fear. She dashed the rest of the way down the trail.

Keeping her gaze pinned on the opposite side of the bank, she bent and dipped the bucket into the water. If she stared hard enough, the shadows shifted into all manner of dragons and beasts. The wood of the bucket scraped against gravel as she scooped it up. If rain didn’t break soon, even this supply would dry to rocks and silt.

The dirge of an owl floated overhead like an unmoored ghost, chasing her all the way back to the cabin. By the time she slammed the door shut behind her, her heart raced, her lungs burned, and she was pretty sure she’d spilled most of Grace’s drink.

But why was there no fair-haired pixie sprinting to greet her?

Eleanor scanned from wall to wall. “Grace?”

No movement. No sound. Just crickets outside and a thudding heartbeat pounding in her ears. Eleanor set down the bucket and searched from crib, to bedstead, to behind the crates stacked like shelves. This time fear didn’t just embrace her—it swallowed her whole.

Grace was gone.

S
amuel squatted and sniffed. The bear vanished. Just like that. No more broken twigs. No flattened brush. Not even any more piles of scat. He rolled his shoulders, surveying the forest floor. How could such a strong trail suddenly disappear? It was as if the hand of God reached down and lifted the bear into the heavens. Rising, he pivoted slowly, scanning from trunk to trunk.

“Ya’nu! Over here.”

He jogged the few yards to Inoli, who stretched out an arm from his perch atop Wohali. Nearby, shreds of missing bark scarred a pine trunk. So, God hadn’t reached down.

Apparently the bear had escaped on his own up to the heavens—or more like up a tree trunk.

Samuel lifted his face, a welcome change from reading the dirt. A beast that size would follow the lower branches, only those large enough to hold his weight, and only those reaching close enough to touch. Gaze fixed upward, he waded through the undergrowth, reconstructing the bear’s most likely route. Cunning devil. Not many men would have owned the wits to try such an evasive action.

When the trees thinned, he slowed. There. More gashes. He lengthened his stride, circling the area, then let out a growl.

Inoli’s voice closed in on him from behind. “This bear knows the great Ya’nu is on the hunt.”

“And he’s laughing at me all the way. The beast is headed south, right back the way we came. We must’ve passed it a quarter mile ago, judging by these tracks. At least we’ll be upwind this time.”

He tromped off, Inoli guiding Wohali beside him, keeping the horse’s hooves from cracking sticks as much as possible.

Samuel spoke in a low tone. “Tell me of Keowee.”

“Running Doe sends her regards.” Inoli rarely laughed. He didn’t have to. His voice smiled.

Samuel scowled, even though his brother couldn’t see the glower. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“I could tell you of my own conquests, but I think what you want to know is that the Beloved Man was not there this time. Word is he rode to Tamassee for a peace council.”

“Peace!” He spit out the word, then winced. Upwind or not, the loud exclamation would tip off the bear of their presence. “I wager five to one he’s rallying warriors.”

Inoli reined his mount closer. “Which would be why he sent a dispatch to Dragging Canoe.”

Interesting. Samuel worked over the piece of information as he swept his gaze back and forth over the ground. Everyone knew Dragging Canoe sided with the British, as did his father, Attakullakulla. The chief wouldn’t have sent word to his son to determine his allegiance, but to muster it—or mayhap to send Dragging Canoe to gather more warriors, making Attakullakulla appear to be all harmony and goodwill toward the colonists. Samuel swiped a horsefly away from his cheek. The man—both, actually—were as wily as this bear.

“I suppose that’s why I’ve not yet heard from Sutton about the negotiator,” he thought out loud. “He’s giving Attakullakulla time to figure out exactly what he can offer.”

“There is more.”

Samuel stopped. There was no smile in those words. He wheeled about and faced Inoli. “What?”

“Your name came up.” Rage flashed in his brother’s dark eyes, black upon black. “Some question your allegiance to the Ani’yunwiya.”

“They have a right to. I am conflicted.” He blew out a long breath. “Thanks to my ancestors, my heart is captive to both Cherokee and whites. I thought to live here in peace, give Grace what I never had—a real home. But … I don’t think that’s a possibility anymore.”

His shoulders sank, though hard to tell whether from the strain of hunting the rogue bear—or from the realization that the coming war was inevitable.

Or maybe it was from the weight of Inoli’s gaze.

“Did you ever stop to think, my brother, that maybe such a dream was not given you by God, but by your own unmet desire?” Inoli leaned forward in the saddle, his trademark feather skimming his shoulder with the movement. “Perhaps God is not calling you to live for peace, but rather to fight for it.”

The words hit like a swift uppercut. He swung away from Inoli, working his jaw as he set off. Better to focus on the wild beast at hand than entertain such a monstrous suggestion.

Eleanor flung open the cabin’s door and scanned the yard. In the setting sun, everything looked haunted.

“Grace!” she called, eyes willing a light-haired head and big smile to emerge from the coming night. Surely if the girl had followed her to the creek, she’d have heard her, or even run into her on her way back to the cabin if Grace had lagged behind.