Cherokee Storm (31 page)

Then the baby began to cry. The man turned toward the sound and shouted. “Drake! Here! There's some of them hidin' in there.”

Dread settled over Shannon. Drake was here.

Taking a deep breath, she did the only thing she could. She called out and stood up. “Drake,” she yelled. “It's me. I'm here.” Fighting back tears, she pushed her way through the trees into the clearing.

The first man she had seen kicked his mount. The animal leaped forward, and when they came abreast of where she stood, Ben Taylor dismounted and grabbed her by the arm. “I got her, Drake!” he shouted. “I got her!”

Shannon paid him no mind. Instead, she stared at the man she once thought would be her husband. That it was Drake Clark, there was no doubt. But he wasn't the same as the Drake who'd left her alone in the cabin to fort up with his family. Not the same at all. This Drake's hair had white streaks in it. He'd lost two stone of weight, and a puckered scar ran from his temple diagonally across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek. A patch covered one eye, and from the ridged skin on either side of the cloth, Shannon doubted that there was any eye left at all. A second scar twisted the left side of his mouth and continued down his chin to vanish in his graying beard.

Drake swung down from his horse and limped toward her, looking frail and far older than his father. “Shannon.”

She nodded. “It's me.”

He stopped, looking her up and down, taking in her moccasins, her short fringed skirt, and the laced vest that barely covered her breasts. “For God's sake, woman,” he said, “you're half naked.” He went back to his horse and pulled a coat from the roll behind his saddle. “Put this on.” Drake's scarred mouth made his words come out twisted and harsh.

“I'm not naked,” she protested, but he threw the coat over her shoulders.

Ben Taylor stared, and then licked his lower lip.

“Stop lookin' at her,” Drake ordered. “Have the decency to turn your head until she's covered.”

“There's no need—” she began.

“No, don't say nothin',” Drake said. “It wasn't your fault, what happened to ya. Folks will understand.”

He leaned close, and Shannon shrank back. Drake's breath was no sweeter than it had been when she'd seen him last. He smelled of salt pork, sour sweat, and cheap whiskey.

“You're not in the family way, are ya?” he whispered.

“No,” she lied. She thought there was a possibility that she was pregnant. Her courses hadn't come last month, and it was already past time again. She hadn't been nauseous, as women were supposed to be, but she was ravenous all the time, and her breasts felt tender. Whether she carried her husband's child or not was none of Drake's business. “This is a mistake,” she said. “I'm not anyone's captive. I'm here of my own free will.”

“Damned if you are.” He caught her by the wrist and dragged her back to where his horse stood. “Now, you stand there until I get in the saddle.” Once he was mounted, he offered her his hand. “Jump up behind me.”

“You don't understand,” she protested. From the woods, she heard Acorn wail again. Drake looked in that direction. “All right,” she said, wanting to divert his attention. “I'll come back to the village with you, but we have to talk. I don't want—”

“It ain't up to you what you want,” he said brusquely. “We come through hellfire and damnation to get you free from these savages and fetch you home where you belong.” He yanked the horse's head around.

Ben Taylor remounted.

“Come on,” Drake said. “We stay in these woods, just the two of us, we maybe get an arrow in the back.”

Shannon held herself erect, trying to keep her balance behind the saddle without touching Drake. She couldn't go back to this man, couldn't go back to a life that she'd left forever. She was
Tsalagi
now. She might be carrying a Cherokee child, a dark-skinned baby that would never be accepted among Drake's family and neighbors…among any whites. He might even separate her from her child.

She'd heard of such practices. At the orphanage, there had been several mixed-race babies left at the doorstep in the night. But there were no mixed-race children. She'd always wondered what the authorities had done with those infants. Had they been sold into slavery…or worse?

As they entered the village, Shannon saw that the soldiers held a cluster of elderly men and women and several small children prisoner. A newborn wailed shrilly, and one small naked boy sobbed.

“What are they doing to them?” Shannon demanded. “Leave them alone! Those people haven't done anything wrong. Isn't there a peace treaty between the English and the Cherokee?”

“Shut your mouth,” Drake said. “I got her,” he called to the redcoat officer that seemed to be in charge. “This is my wife, Shannon O'Shea Clark.”

“That's her, all right.” Nathan Clark stepped out of one of the cabins, a long rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. “That's Drake's woman.”

Several English soldiers came out of one of the larger dwellings. They were carrying furs and other items in their arms. A young girl, no more than ten or eleven, followed, loudly berating the redcoats as robbers.

“Did you come here to break the peace?” Shannon asked. “To steal from your allies?” She counted more than a half-dozen men she knew from Green Valley. There were perhaps fifteen common soldiers, including those who'd just robbed the lodge, and one man that might be a sergeant, standing near the group of prisoners.

Red-faced, the officer shouted a command to the sergeant. He, in turn, shouted at the soldiers, and they reluctantly dropped their loot. “Your pardon, Mistress Clark,” the officer said. “Captain Sidwell at your service, madam. We came here to secure your release, nothing more.”

“There are runaway slaves in this camp too.” Gall came around the side of Firefly's house. “I saw two blacks here this morning.”

“He's lying,” Shannon said. “There's no one here but Indians. If you harass these people, you'll set these mountains on fire. Are those your orders, sir?” she asked the captain. “Do you mean to fight the whole Cherokee nation as well as the French and Shawnee?”

“No, madam,” the captain said. “We came here to free you, nothing more. If these Indians will stand aside and make no effort to prevent us from doing so, we will do them no harm.”

“I tell you there are blacks hiding here,” Gall insisted.

“We got no time to hunt down runaways,” Nathan Clark said. “We got my son's wife. Nobody's hurt. Now, let's get while the gettin's good.”

Captain Sidwell approached Shannon. “It's my understanding that the savage that abducted you is dead. Is that true?”

Shannon's heart pounded. She didn't know how to answer. If she said that Storm Dancer was alive, would they wait and ambush him and the returning men? She glanced at Gall. He scowled back at her.

“He is dead,” Strong Bow said in English, leading the officer's horse forward and handing the reins to the redcoat. “Joseph killed him.” He motioned to Gall. “The man you seek is dead.”

“Good,” Sidwell said. “Then we can be on our way.”

“Do I have any say in this?” Shannon asked. “Or am I to consider myself a captive?”

The English captain's cheeks grew red again. “Madam, your husband, your father-in-law, my men, and your husband's neighbors have ridden far through dangerous territory to rescue you.”

“And if I don't want to be rescued?” Shannon asked. “What if I want to stay here?”

“Don't listen to her,” Drake said. “She's half crazed from what she's been through.”

“No,” she protested. “I want to remain with the Cherokee. I don't want to go back with this man.”

“He's your lawful husband,” Nathan Clark said. “Ain't my son been through enough, Captain? He lost his twin brother to hostiles. Look at him. He's ruined for life. Ain't it right that his wife come home where she belongs to tend to him?”

“I don't want to go,” Shannon said. “Please, sir, have mercy—”

The captain shook his head. “I only enforce the king's laws and those of the Colony of Virginia. Your duty is to go where your husband bids you. I'm sure you'll feel differently, once you're back with your own kind.” He turned away and mounted his horse.

“You heard the man,” Drake said. “You're comin' home with me, and that's the end of it.”

“Against my will?”

“You're a woman, and you're my wife,” Drake replied. “What you want or don't want don't matter a tinker's damn.”

The sun was high overhead, not long past noon, when Gall and Strong Bow led the mixed troop of foot soldiers and mounted farmers out of the valley and down a narrow ravine. Shannon, riding behind Drake, was puzzled. She had come this way with Storm Dancer when they returned from their honeymoon lodge in the deep mountains. He had pointed out the directions to her. Now, she was certain that the scouts were leading them south, not north to where Fort Hood lay some five days' distance.

Drake barely spoke a word to her from the time they left the village until they stopped on a creek bank in late afternoon to rest and drink. His father rode up beside them, scowled, and tossed a bundle to Drake.

“There's a dress and shift in there. Make her put them on. There's no call for her to show her bare legs and thighs for these soldiers to ogle.”

“You heard him,” Drake said to her.

“Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Nope. Unless you want me to take off those Injun rags and dress you decent myself.”

“Am I allowed some privacy, or do you want me to strip in front of everyone?”

“There's bushes, yonder.”

Nathan scowled. “Don't try nothin' stupid. You run, and we'll ride back and burn that Injun village to the ground.”

“Where could I run?” she asked. “This is all wilderness.”

“Damn right, it is,” Drake said.

Nathan stared at the trees on either side of the creek. “I still think we should have brought some of them kids with us as hostages,” he said. “Them bucks could still come down on us before we get out of these mountains.”

The English captain approached. “Gentlemen, madam, you need to mount up. My guides want to be as far from that village as possible by night.”

All afternoon, they continued to zigzag south, east, and then south again. They filed up mountainsides so steep that they had to dismount and lead the horses, and she was sure they'd crossed the same creek three times. Once, they waded through a fast-running stream only a few hundred yards downriver from where they traversed it hours before.

From time to time, Shannon had the uneasy feeling that Gall was watching her with hate in his eyes, but he stayed far away. No one else in the group spoke to her, and she said nothing to any of them. She tried to memorize the landmarks they passed, but each new valley and each mountain looked the same. As the day wore on, she grew weary from traveling and only wanted to stay upright on the back of the horse.

At dusk, they crossed another valley. The trees were thick on either side of the narrow game trail. Ahead, Shannon saw Strong Bow speaking to the English redcoat sergeant. He, in turn, consulted with the captain. Soon, she heard the word passed down the line among the soldiers.

“Not far.”

“Water for the horses up ahead.”

The trail ended at a sheer outcrop of stone that reared more than a hundred feet straight up. Gall and Strong Bow consulted, and then split up. Gall led the troop left down a narrow gully while Strong Bow turned right and climbed the nearly vertical wooded incline.

“What's happening?” Drake asked one of the redcoats. “I thought we were stopping soon.”

“Just a few more miles,” said a young recruit. From his accent, Shannon thought the lad might be Welsh. “There's a good spot by a river, and George has gone to shoot us a deer for supper.”

It was full dark by the time they reached the camping place at the base of another high ridge. The hollow seemed ideal, with the river on one side and craggy ridges rising steep on either side. “A good place,” Drake said. “Water's too wild to ford or swim here. Soldiers set up a watch, we can sleep tonight.” He gripped Shannon's knee. “What sleepin' we do.” A slow smile crossed the twisted mouth. “We got a tent, darlin'. So us married folk can be alone.”

She bit back a retort and slid off the back of the horse. Whatever Drake expected, he wasn't getting it, not from her. Not tonight, and not any night this side of hell. “I need the necessary,” she said.

“You can use them trees, if you have to piss,” he said. “But don't get any funny ideas.” His father helped him down out of the saddle, and he leaned against the horse for support as he got his balance.

He's sick,
Shannon thought,
and weak. I can fight him off if I have to.
She pushed through a screen of young willows and sat down on a rock beside the river, wanting only a few minutes to come up with a way to protect herself from Drake until Storm Dancer could rescue her.

The current rushed and tumbled over mossy rocks, throwing sprays of water into the air and drowning the sounds of men erecting tents, shouting to each other, and building campfires. Shannon felt the sting of threatening tears, but she choked them back. She wouldn't give Drake Clark or his father the satisfaction of making her cry.

“Don't be too long or I'll come after you,” Drake yelled.

“All right,” she answered. She stared at the roaring, boulder-strewn cataract again, wondering if she should just jump in and take her chances. The river was more than two hundred feet wide, deep and dangerous. She could swim, but her strength was no match for this fierce, torrent of black water. She'd be sucked down or dashed against the rocks. To try and cross it would be suicide. She wasn't that desperate yet.

“I warn you, woman…” Drake shouted.

“Just a minute.”

Male laughter. “Can't rush nature,” she heard the Welshman remark.

Just as she had risen to her feet to return to the camp, a wren chirped only a few feet away. Instantly, she was alert, hoping against hope that it was Storm Dancer.

Instead, when the branches parted, it was the face of Oona's brother she saw motioning her to silence. Shannon's heart sank.

“Do not worry about the safety of your village,” he whispered. “These fools could not find it again from here. Gall took eight days to lead them there from Green Valley. We brought them through cane thickets and over mountains a rabbit wouldn't climb. Even the traitor Gall did not wish the English to find their way a second time.” He smiled thinly. “I will guide them another ten days through the white man's hell to reach Fort Hood. None will remember the way to my sister's sanctuary.”

“Gall can show them,” she said. “If he did it once, he could—”

“Leave Gall to me. And do not dare this river crossing. It would be death.”

“My husband is Storm Dancer. I'll die before I give myself to another man. But they've threatened to destroy Firefly's village if I run away.”

“I give you my word, the village is safe. Tell my sister I will come to her before the snow falls. And if the
Tsalagi
agree, I will make my home with them. Too long I have lived without my family.”

“I have to do something.”

“If you were my woman, I would come for you,” Strong Bow said. “If Storm Dancer is the man they sing of—the man you believe he is—he will not abandon you. Have faith. But do whatever you must to survive until he does.”

Fear made her reckless. “Help me,” she begged. “Help me to escape.”

“If I can,” he promised. “But first, there is Gall. And he has a debt to pay my sister.”

 

Gall left the circle of firelight to retrieve a fallen log he'd seen on the riverbank. He was no more than ten yards from the nearest sentry when he bent to lift the dry section of wood from the dirt. Without warning something heavy slammed into the base of his skull. He felt a bright flash of pain, and then he knew nothing but darkness.

When Gall began to recover consciousness, he felt movement beneath him. He realized he was being carried over a man's shoulder. Gall tried to cry out, but he found that his mouth was bound with cloth. He struggled, but found his arms and legs were tied tightly together.

What had happened? His head felt as though someone had struck him with an ax. He was sick to his stomach. Bile rose in his throat. He fought panic, sensing that with the gag in his mouth he could choke to death on his own vomit. His assailant ran on, powerful legs churning, feet hitting the earth in a strong, regular cadence.

Storm Dancer? Could it be Storm Dancer? Impossible. This man didn't even smell like a
Tsalagi.
He smelled like the Delaware. George? Why would George
Hatapi
ambush and attack him?

Abruptly, the man stopped. Gall barely had time to suck in a deep breath when his captor slammed him onto the ground. Gall's head cracked against a rock, and once again, blackness enveloped him.

This time when Gall opened his eyes, he could make out the silhouettes of tree branches above him. Stars winked in the great bowl of black sky. Gall moaned and discovered that the gag was gone. “Why did you—” he began.

“Save your voice,” George said as he ripped away Gall's loincloth and hunting shirt. His voice sent ice crystals sliding down Gall's spine.

A storm of excruciating pain crashed through Gall's head. He sprawled flat on his back, and when he tried to rise, he found that rawhide thongs bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. “Have you gone mad?” he croaked.

“No, but you will.”

George's face swam into Gall's distorted line of vision. He couldn't make out George's features in the darkness, but it seemed to him that the Delaware's teeth gleamed like a wolf.

“How does it feel to be helpless, defiler of women?”

“What are you talking about? Let me go! The English captain will—” Gall screamed as his right knee dissolved in an agony of splintered bone and crushed nerves.

George leaned close, panting. “You dishonored my sister, the wife of Truth Teller. And you murdered him.”

“No! No! That's a lie. I never—”

“Scream all you like. No one will hear you but the black bears and the foxes.” George lifted another rock and smashed Gall's left knee.

He howled.

George pressed his mouth next to his ear. “My sister asked that you not die too quickly. Do not disappoint her.” With a two quick slashes, he sliced the leathers that held Gall's wrists tied to the stakes in the earth. And then, before Gall could say another word, the Delaware was gone, running away into the night.

“Come back!” Gall screamed. “Don't leave me like this!”

The only answer was the echoing hoot of an owl and the death shriek of a dying rabbit.

 

Grumbles rose around the fires when the scout didn't appear with fresh meat for the evening meal. The soldiers and farmers from Green Valley made do with water from the river, dried salt beef, and wormy biscuits. Shannon would have had to be starving to eat such food. And she had no appetite. All she could think of was the tent that Drake had pointed out, and the hours between now and dawn she would be expected to spend there alone with him.

Gathering her nerve, she approached Captain Sidwell. “Sir, I beg you. Let me sleep alone. I have no wish to bed down with that man.” She indicated Drake who was washing down his chunks of beef and biscuit with swigs from a pewter flask.

“It's not my affair,” the officer replied brusquely. “I've no order to interfere between you and your family.”

“But that's what I'm trying to tell you,” she argued. “He's not my husband. I've left him. I'll never live with him as a wife.”

Clearly embarrassed, Sidwell looked at her across the camp table where he was taking his frugal meal. “Madam, do you have a legal bill of divorce, signed by a judge?”

“No, I don't, but—”

He picked up his fork, stabbed a wiggling maggot that had escaped from a piece of bread, and flicked it off onto the ground. “According to the laws of the Virginia Colony, you are your husband's property. Short of murder, he can do with you as he pleases.” He frowned at her and lowered his voice. “You'll do yourself no good by continuing in this fashion. Consider yourself fortunate that you've been rescued from those savages.”

“It's getting late,” Drake said loudly, stretching his arms up, making a deliberate show for the circle of men around the fire. “You'd best get into our tent, woman. I'll join ya soon as I'm done with my meat.” Amos Tyler chuckled, and Drake grinned at him. “A man needs his rest after a hard day, don't he?”

Shannon walked, chin up, back straight, to the ragged tent. One pole leaned and the back was pitched higher than the front. She threw open the entrance cover and stooped to duck inside. Inside, firelight filtered through the rotten seams and the thin material of the walls. A bedroll lay in the far corner. On the ground cloth, almost blocking the doorway, Drake had thrown his saddlebags.

She was about to toss them against the wall when it occurred to her that there might be a knife or even a pistol inside. She had unbuckled the left pouch and begun to rummage through the contents when Drake came into the tent.

“Get out of my stuff.” He grabbed her arm and twisted her around to face him. “What are you looking for?” He tried to kiss her and she turned her head away. “I always did like a little fight in a woman.”

She smacked his face, and he pushed her down.

“We can play rough if you want to.”

Frantically, she grabbed the saddlebags and threw them at him. A leather-bound book fell to the floor. A patch of light shining through the half-open door illuminated the cover, and time seemed to freeze as Shannon stared at it.
Tom Jones
by Henry Fielding.
Volume 1.

Drake swore. “Pick that up, bitch. Do you know how much that cost me?”

He shoved her, but she ignored him. Suddenly, everything that had been troubling her about Drake Clark fell into place. The book was the key that unlocked it all. Damon was the reader. Drake Clark wouldn't know what to do with a book if it hit him in the head.

“Come here, woman.” He took hold of the collar of her bodice and ripped it. Tiny buttons spun against the tent sides and slid to the floor. He fumbled with the front of his trousers. “I've been waiting for this.”