Columbine (20 page)

“But you promised me his holdings if I helped you,” said Robillard peevishly.

“My mission is to drive these English from French land, not to make you rich,” declared Hertel de Rouville impatiently as he flipped back the lace-trimmed cuff on his shirt to scratch his wrist. There had been fleas in his bed last night, and God only knew what kind of vermin on the Indian woman who’d been waiting naked beneath the coverlet for him. The sooner he could return to the civilities of Quebec, the better.

“Sparhawk must die, that is so. But it must be arranged so that no blame can fall to us. We must draw him to us of his own will, away from the others.”

“If only he had a wife we could take as bait, eh?

He is a gal ant that one. He would follow.”

“No wife, perhaps, but there is some lady he holds dear. Didn’t you mark how he started when you asked of the Lindsey woman?” Hertel de Rouville chuckled, quite pleased with himself.

“You will go to his home, Robillard, and you will learn the name of his amourette.” Robillard shook his head.

“I do not think that a good plan, mon ami,” he said doubtfully. He was reluctant to question a fine gentleman like Hertel de Rouville, but his own neck was the one at stake.

“You heard Sparhawk. He’ll kill me if I go to Plumstead.”

“Not if you come with news of, say, those three

English women. You may even claim the ransom for aught I care.”

“You will give them to me to take back?” asked Robillard incredulously.

The lieutenant shrugged carelessly.

“Not possible, I fear. The oldest one could not keep pace and perished.

The two girls will find a new life of grace with the good sisters in Quebec.”

De Rouville laughed to himself as he gripped Rob-il lard shoulder, his fingers tightening into the older man’s flesh.

“You tell Sparhawk whatever he wishes to hear, oui? And you do not return here until you know the woman’s name and where she dwells.

Then, mon ami, it will be gh time for our Abenaki compatriotes to pay her our compliments.”

“If we return tonight,” suggested Attawan hopefully, “we could kill him while he sleeps.”

“And be killed ourselves in the bargain,” said Kit matter-of-factly as he tossed a stone into the water.

They sat on a rocky outcropping high above the river, Kit watching the sun dip behind the Green Mountains to the west while Attawan cleaned the two bullheads he’d caught for their dinner. Earlier, in the afternoon’s heat, Kit had stripped off his shirt, and now, while the stone beneath him still held the warmth, the evening breeze felt pleasantly cool on his bare back.

“There were four men that we saw,” Kit continued, “and doubtless others who chose not to show themselves. Besides, I’d warrant Robillard expects us to be the same sort of skulking cowards he himself is and will double his watch tonight just in case.”

Attawan struck his thigh with his fist.

“I am not afraid, Sparhawk.”

“So who is more brave than wise now?” asked Kit, grinning. He leaned back on his elbows, his legs outstretched comfortably before him.

“Nay, much as I’d like to throttle that man’s fat neck, ‘tis better this way. Once Robillard returns the Barnard women, I’ll be free to hunt down the Abenakis responsible and bring them to Wickhamton for trial.”

Attawan snorted, shaking silvery fish scales from his fingers.

“If he returns your captives. I don’t believe he has the power to find them.”

“if he can, he will. He no more wants English soldiers in his fields than I want French ones in mine.” “Even if they’re already there?”

Kit frowned, sitting upright, waiting for Attawan to continue.

“The Abenakis and Mohawks who destroyed your Deerfield were led by French soldiers. Two hundred soldiers on snowshoes, it is said.”

Kit stared at him, stunned.

“Would you swear to this?”

Attawan didn’t answer, wounded to have his word questioned, but Kit was too disturbed to soothe his friend’s feelings.

“Why didn’t you tell me of this earlier?” he demanded.

“One hundred and forty-two English were lost that day, and all has been blamed on the Indians alone!”

“These French are not foolish,” said Attawan reasonably.

Having misdeeds blamed on Indians was nothing new to him, and though he called Kit friend, he didn’t share his horror for the killed or kidnapped English and judged the fighting between French and English no different than the skirmishes among the Seven Nations.

“They let the Abenakis attack first, and when the killing is done, they followed. It was the same at your English village of Pascommuck, too, though not so many of your people were taken.”

“Nearly two score,” said Kit grimly, tugging on his boots.

“We’re heading for Deerfield this night and talk to Captain Ferris. They must be warned. I knew the French had leagued with the Indians to the east, but I didn’t think they dared to come here. I’ve been away too long, Attawan. I should have known this was happening. If I hadn’t gone to England in my brother’s stead—” The second boot caught on his foot, and in his frustration Kit yanked it off and sent it sailing into the brush. CalmlyAttawan went to retrieve it.

“Your scars run deep, my friend,” he said gently as he dropped the boot into Kit’s lap.

“These are your people, aye, but they’re not your family again.

You cannot change the past, and you must not let it blind you to the future.”

Kit wished he could. He wanted no more killing, no more families torn apart, no more nightmares of Tamsin’s screams. AH he longed for was peace and a life with Dianna at Plumstead. God in Heaven, was that so very much to ask?

The musket fired, and as the gunsmoke drifted clear, Dianna could see the rock she’d set on the fence post as a target was gone, shot clean away without touching the wooden post.

“Aye, ye be a finer shot than most of’ the’ men now,” said Hester with considerable satisfaction.

“I don’t care what that old fool Asa says. It be a good thing ye know how t’handle a gun, with ye an’ Mercy all by yerselves in that house.”

Carefully Dianna cleaned out the gun’s barrel, remembering all that Hester had warned her about fouled firearms.

“We’ll be safe enough, Hester.

We’re too close to Wickhamton and Plumstead to be attacked. Besides, Asa and Jeremiah are never gone for more than three nights running now. Asa promised.”

“Well, ye keep that musket o’yours primed an’ ready like I told ye. Just because we haven’t been plagued by any more of’ the savages don’t mean they’re not waitin’ and plannin’ t’strike again. Mind, ‘twas four months ‘twixt Deerfield an’ the Barnards,” warned Hester. She shaded her eyes with her hand, gauging the time by the sun’s height in the sky.

“Come, ‘tis time I turned the’ joint, an’ time, too, ye an’ Mercy headed back. Kit would have my head if I let ye tarry after dusk.”

Dianna busied herself with collecting her powder horn and bullets, her face lowered so Hester wouldn’t notice how she blushed at the mention of Kit’s name.

She always did. Having him gone more than four weeks hadn’t changed that, nor had she stopped missing him every hour, every minute of each of those thirty-one days. It was a part of being in love that she hadn’t expected, this constant caring laced with fear. She was certain he’d be back, but she worried about all the dangers that might threaten him.

What were his assurances against arrows and hatchets?

For distraction she threw herself into a hundred tasks, from gathering herbs to dry for physicking, to learning how to shoot a musket, to teaching Mercy how to read from the one book that Asa owned, an

Old Testament. But no matter how busy she kept her hands, Kit remained to haunt her thoughts by day and her dreams by night.

Yet it was Hester now who spoke, seemingly reading Dianna’s thoughts.

“I wish th’ lad would get him self back here soon,” she said uneasily.

“He’s been gone too long t’suit me.”

Swiftly Dianna stood uptight. It was bad enough to worry alone, but infinitely worse if Hester, who had lived here nearly all her life, was concerned as well.

“You don’t believe some ill has befallen him,

do you?”

Hester sighed deeply, shaking her head.

“Nay, ,

, , , Ive no real reason, He’s young an strong an a good man in a fight, an he knows the’ woods better’n any other Englishman. An’ he be clever, too. If he reckons talkin’ with that lout Robillard’s going t’set things to tights, then we must trust him t’do what be best. But I don’t have to like it.” Her voice rose indignantly.

“Nay, not a bit o’it! The Sparhawks be too unlucky with th’ Indians for Kit t’be off testing fate like this.”

“Unlucky?” echoed Dianna faintly.

“How so?”

At once Hester realized her indiscretion.

“So he hasn’t told ye?” she said uncomfortably, looking past Dianna to avoid her eyes.

“Well, it don’t be my tale to tell.”

“I know his father led the militia before him,”

Dianna persisted, determined not to be put off.

“Was he killed by the Indians? Was that it?”

“Aye, lass, poor Master Samuel was, indeed,”

Hester agreed eagerly, seizing on that much of the truth.

“Shot an’ scalped wit’ nary a chance t’defend himself.

“Twas Kit who found him.”

“Oh, poor Kit!” breathed Dianna. She knew the pain of losing a father suddenly, but she could not imagine the shock of finding his mutilated body as well. Now she understood why Kit had reacted so violently when the wounded French trapper had been brought to Plumstead. She’d been so swept up in her own concerns that she hadn’t realized Kit’s anguish or been able to recognize it for what it was. Oh, how she wished he’d told her himself!

“Aye, ye can see why I worry over him,” said Hester vehemently, her eyes snapping.

“An’ him off with one of the’ blood-thirsty savages, too! Oh, I know Kit says that Attawan be different, that red men must be judged a-piece, same as Englishmen, but I ask ye, was it Englishmen that burned Deerfield?

Master Samuel and Mistress Amity an’ all their children were both thick as family wit’ Indians, an’ no good ever come of it, Tiny mind. The’ sooner they all be driven away or killed for good, the better for us Christian folk!”

Then, to Dianna’s surprise, the righteous anger vanished from Hester’s face and her mouth seemed to crumple as her eyes grew shiny with tears.

“I’ve no kin o’my own, you see,” she explained hoarsely.

“No younglings t’worry over. But those two Sparhawk lads, aye, an’ their sisters, too, they’ve been more’n enough t’love. An’ if any harm comes to Kit, why I’d feel it as if he were my own flesh.”

Near to tears herself, Dianna threw her arms around Hester and hugged her tightly.

“He’ll come back, I know it,” she said fiercely, as much to convince herself as to reassure Hester.

“He swore he would, and you know Kit Sparhawk would never break his word!”

“That be true enough, lass.” Embarrassed by her emotions, Hester stepped back and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, sniffing loudly.

“An’ enough of this foolish old woman’s fancies, too, ye be thinkin’. There’ll be naught worth eating tonight if we don’t go back.”

They hurried back to the house and self-consciously, neither of them mentioned Kit again.

“Now ye take that cheese wit’ ye, like ye promised,” said Hester as they entered the kitchen.

“There be a nice piece for yer supper that surely will go wantin’ here otherwise.”

Leaving Hester to poke at the roast on the spit, Dianna stepped into the cool shadows of the little buttery off the kitchen to search for the cheese. She paused, listening, when she heard the heavy footsteps in the kitchen, and a man’s voice she didn’t recognize.

None of the field workers should be back at the house this early anyway, she thought, frowning. Then came the sound of shattering crockery, and Hester’s voice raised in angry protest. Dianna peeked through the half-opened door just as the heavy-set man pinned Hester’s arms behind her back.

Dianna pulled back quickly into the shadows, praying the man hadn’t seen her. She recognized him as the one who’d challenged Kit outside the meetinghouse, Robillard himself, and she rememtered, too, how quick he’d been with a knife. Now she would have to be even faster if she wanted to help Hester. Why was he here? Where was Kit? She shoved the doubts away. She could see her musket where she’d left it, leaning against a chair. Three steps and she would reach it. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and lunged for the gun.

Before Robillard even noticed her, she had grabbed the musket and trained it on his startled face.

“You let Mistress Holcomb go free,” she ordered, her heart pounding with adrenaline, but her voice surprisingly calm.

“Then off with you! You’ve no business in this house.”

Dianna watched the man’s expression change, the surprise changing to disbelief and then to bemused contempt.

“Eh, I should be frightened by a petitefille like you?”

That contempt angered Dianna and steadied her, as well.

“Better a little girl than a co chon dnormet” she answered tartly, squinting down the barrel as she cocked the trigger. At this range she’d no doubt she’d hit the Frenchman. The challenge would be missing Hester.

Robillard frowned, the older woman he held forgotten.

This wild girl with the pale eyes puzzled him.

She was dressed as commonly as any English settler’s wife, but she held herself proud like the grand ladies he’d seen in Quebec, and she was good at orders, too. Such a girl should not be trusted with a musket, and he swore in French.

“Don’t sully my ears with your filth!” replied Dianna in French.

“Now let Mistress Holcomb go free, and pack yourself off before I help you on your way.”

Sacrd bleu, could the chit be French? Robillard stared at her, his confusion growing.

“What are you doing here, eh, ma petite?” he demanded, wondering if this could possibly be the woman he sought. He’d always thought Sparhawk a pious, self-righteous prig, like all Englishmen, and never dreamed he’d keep a mistress right here in his blessed Plumstead.