Black Eagle (19 page)

“Perhaps. But these things you speak of are attributes of a king or a nobleman, not attributes of a simple man.”

“Then perhaps we are all of us kings. Kings of our own lives.”

Again, she snorted, “What sort of a land is this, where everyone in it is a king?”

“It is the land of the Mohawk, the land of the Iroquois,” he said, as his fingers came down to run over the bare skin at her neckline.

She sighed, then whispered, “I fear I still disagree, for I have seen that what I say is true. There are some men who have more intelligence than others, more ability. They were made to take command over others. It is natural.”

“It is not natural.” He spoke slowly, softly, as though his words were pure seduction. “It is the symptom of a man who has been in too close a contact with the darker side of his character, and has weakened himself because of it.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, but he held up his hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “A man might have more ability than another, but if he should give in to the impulse to command or enslave another because of that, he is doomed.”

It was becoming apparent to her that they were speaking of one thing yet doing another, and to counteract the urge to throw herself into his arms, she took a step backward away from him. She said, “Did you say doomed, sir?”

“I did.”

“At risk of repeating myself, I dare to disagree.”

Again, Black Eagle shook his head at her. He said, “Being able to foresee events and problems that others cannot envision gives a man only the right to help others to see. As our elders have taught us, he who would stoop to enslave, always becomes himself enslaved in the end. His destiny is forever damned.”

She blew out her breath, perhaps to show him that she still disagreed, but instead, the motion came out as a sigh, and she swooned in toward him.

He continued, “Perhaps the Creator made it so as a test of a man's nature. But as our elders have often counseled, he who abuses his power over another is ruined, and from that moment on, is forever cursed. He might amass material things, but that is all he can, all he will ever have. His future, his soul is forever destroyed.”

She gasped. Whether she liked it or not, Black Eagle had struck a chord with her; he might have been discussing her step-uncle . . . Her step-uncle had amassed material wealth, he commanded others, he destroyed others for profit. Was he forever doomed? Was she, since she had been raised under his roof, thinking much the same as he?

Stunned momentarily, she became silent. Turning away from Black Eagle, she paced back to the bridge, and placed a dainty foot upon its edge. She noticed without really taking note that the moon was now higher in the sky, and that it had changed color. Now, instead of the water reflecting orange-colored jewels, it looked to be a cascade of shimmering diamonds, floating aimlessly toward an unknown source. She was tired, however. She wanted time to consider these matters in her leisure, and so she said, “Let us not argue about this. Can we not agree to disagree?”

“Yes,” he said, and his voice was close behind her. “Perhaps we can do that for now.”

She stepped out farther onto the bridge, and silence fell over the two of them, until she asked, “Won't you join me on the bridge?”

“No,” he said. “I can better protect you from here.”

“Protect me?” She turned too suddenly, and the bridge swung out from underneath her. Quickly, she took hold of the railing and, gaining her footing, righted herself. “I was about to say that I felt we were in a safe place, but perhaps I had better state such things once I reach firmer ground.”

She smiled, and had barely uttered the words, when a shot rang out beside her. As though in slow motion, she realized that she could feel the air of that passing musket ball as it sailed much too close to her head. Was it intended for her?

“Get down!” shouted Black Eagle.

But the bridge was already swinging to and fro, and she was slow to action, and as another shot rang out, again, she could feel the wind of the passing bullet. This time the reality of what was happening became a horror, and she screamed.

Meanwhile, Black Eagle had leapt toward her, and tackling her, he pushed her down onto the bridge. But their motion only served to set the bridge, which was already swinging, into further motion, and within moments, one of the ends of the bridge came loose. It shot downward, then stopped.

“Stay with me,” Black Eagle coaxed. “We will slowly crawl back to solid ground.”

But it was useless. No sooner had they started a crawl toward the shoreline, than another shot rang out, but this time, it hit the knots holding the bridge secure. At once, the rope unraveled, came loose from its ends and the bridge collapsed.

Marisa screamed, and Black Eagle yelled, “It's going down, hold tight to me!”

And then they were plummeting feet first into the cold, liquid depths of the stream. The water wasn't deep, perhaps no more than six feet in depth, and they hadn't far to fall. Although it was a given that they would most likely survive the dive, the mere shock of the cold water might have caused Marisa to panic and drown herself, were it not for Black Eagle, who kept a firm arm around her.

A wooden log from the bridge came down fast and hit her in the shoulder as it went sailing down the stream. She screamed under the impact.

And then the undertow of the water took hold of them, washing them downstream.

“Do not fight the water,” Black Eagle shouted at her, as she kicked out against him.

“But we'll drown!”

“We will not drown. I will not let you. Hold tight.” A strong current momentarily tugged them below the surface of the water. But he quickly emerged, bringing her with him.

And then they were riding out what seemed to her to be a watery highway. There were sharp rocks and shoals waiting, however—she remembered seeing them from her former perch on the bridge.

But soon, she realized that her feet could touch the bottom of the stream, and that she could stand up against the flow of the stream, though the water came up to her chin. But she couldn't move, the impact of the water was that strong.

A muscular arm still held her round the waist and she looked up to see that Black Eagle was forcing his way to the shore, bringing her with him. Only a few feet stood between them and safety.

But it might have been a hundred feet if only because the force of the water barely allowed for movement.
This man must be made of pure determination
, she thought, for it wasn't easily done. He forced his way to shore, even though the current kept tugging them farther and farther downstream.

Never had Marisa swum in water that swirled and dipped and coaxed a person under its surface so furiously. Yet the shore became ever closer and closer until all at once Black Eagle picked her up in his arms, and carried her out of the water, up the stream's steep banks.

They were wet. They were both breathing heavily, but as Black Eagle set her down, not even the mud and the sharp rocks on the shoreline could daunt her from the urge to kiss both him and the ground at the same time.

Throwing herself in his arms, she did exactly that. Had she been on her own, she thought, she might have given up, she might have drowned.

Luckily for her, Black Eagle had been there for her.

 

 

He set her on the rocky shoreline, brought himself up over her and bending, kissed her firmly on the lips. And she kissed him right back, and with fervor. The kiss was long, however, and he seemed to suck the breath right out of her, and when she squirmed beneath him, unable to breathe, he must have realized what effect he was having, for he blew breath right back into her, then he drew away.

She gasped. But the good Lord be praised, oxygen filled her lungs.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his own breath coming in spurts.

“Yes, I believe I am,” she panted between sobs.

“Come, I am sorry, but we cannot stay here. There is no time to relax.”

“Who's relaxing?”

He didn't answer, instead he said, “We must hurry. I cannot leave you here, because if I did, whoever it was that shot at you could find you. But I cannot stay here while there are fresh footprints to find. Whoever fired that shot will try to cover his tracks. Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

He pulled her up, and letting her lean in against him, they began their trek back toward the inn.

“Someone took a shot at me,” she stated the obvious, even as she struggled to keep her pace the same as his.

“Yes, I intend to find out who that was.” He fell into silence. “Have you any enemies?”

“No.”

“No one who would wish to see your demise?”

“No, certainly not.”

He didn't answer, but rather remained a rock-solid pillar for her as she struggled to merely put one foot in front of the other.

At last the inn came into view. There were voices, all loud and raised, and as she and Black Eagle came within sight, the first person who came rushing toward them was Sarah.

“Marisa! Marisa!”

“I am here, Sarah!”

There were tears flowing down Sarah's face. She took hold of Marisa and squeezed. “I swear I will never leave you again. Thank you, Sir Eagle, for your assistance, and for saving her.” Sarah placed her arms around Marisa, and Marisa shifted her weight from Black Eagle's embrace to Sarah's.

“Are you all right, miss?” It was Stiler, the innkeeper, who was followed by his wife. “ 'Twas Jacob, miss. He was drunk. He said he thought you was a deer.”

“A deer?” It was Mrs. Stiler speaking. “Why I never heard of such a thing. Come here, child. I've got a nice fire ready to warm ye and some soup to give ye back yer strength.” Coming up on Marisa's other side, both Mrs. Stiler and Sarah helped Marisa to walk back to the inn.

Mr. Stiler followed. “We's sobered ole Jake up, ma'am, if'n you want to come and speak to him. Yer man, Thompson, was beside himself with worry. 'Twas he who found Jake. I's a heap sorry for the trouble, and I'll give ye back yer gold pieces, as well.”

Marisa was beyond words as to how to respond to the innkeeper. She was simply happy to still be alive, and apparently well loved.

And so it was that, after a good hot meal, and the affectionate nursing of Sarah and Mrs. Stiler, Marisa met Jacob, who had approached her with hat in hand. It was easy to forgive the man, especially being surrounded as she was by such friendly and concerned friends.

The only detail that marred her happiness was that Black Eagle hadn't stepped foot into the inn to participate in the luxury of the hot fire and taste the delicious soup. And she couldn't help but consider that he had to be as tired as she was.

It was odd, because, the Lord help her, she missed his friendly, and his sometimes not-so-friendly, presence.

The imprints left in the earth clearly showed two men's tracks, not one. One of the men's prints was, indeed, Jacob's. The other, however, was that of Thompson.

Black Eagle frowned, and rose up from the ground. Looking forward, toward where the footbridge had once been, he could see that Jacob would have had a clean shot. Most likely the man had missed due to the swinging of the bridge, rather than intoxication, as both he, and the others had indicated. Had it truly been an accident?

If not a mishap, however, the incident could only indicate that the action had been deliberately meant. Though it seemed unlikely, he wondered if someone were trying to kill Marisa? And if so, why?

Drunkenness aside, who could have possibly mistaken
Ahweyoh
for a deer? Could it have happened the way the other's explained it?

Perhaps. After all, Marisa had been wearing an ivory-colored dress, a similar color as the underside of a deer.

The only fact that bothered Black Eagle was that both shots had come dangerously close to her, since Marisa had explained that she'd felt the passing whiz of the shots. This alone, because of the swinging motion of the bridge, insinuated that the shots had been carefully aimed, and not the result of a drunken escapade.

But there was no proof of ill doing, outside of speculation.

Black Eagle's frown grew strained. First the cinches, now this. Was this incident, like the other, simply a case of neglect, or was there something about both incidents that had been carefully orchestrated?

Planned or coincidence, it little mattered. The point was that he would be well-advised to be on his guard. Events concerning this party might not be as they seem.

 

 

The morning dawned dark and rainy, cold and dismal. Not the sort of weather one treasured when traveling. It hadn't started out well, either, not from the very beginning. Upon stepping from the inn, Sarah had been struck from above by a heavy branch, which had been precariously perched on the roof of the establishment.