Judith E. French (13 page)

“I spoke without thinkin’,” O’Brian apologized.

“That tongue may be your undoing,” Stewart warned. He glanced at Fiona. “Sometimes he forgets who pays his wages.”

“Aye, true enough,” Timothy admitted, “but on that I was plain from the first. My da left the green fields o’ Kerry so his boyos would none o’ them have to hold their tongues for no gentleman. I am who I am and what I am, and iffen ye don’t like it, well, to hell and gone wi’ ye, sir. No offense meant.”

Stewart laughed. “And none taken.”

“The Indians have treated me well,” Fiona admitted.

Stewart fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Damn if you don’t look enough like her to be ...” An expression of loss flickered over his features. “That was a long time ago. A man’s memory fades as he grows older, they say.” His gaze locked with hers. “Do you wish to leave here and return to the English settlements?”

“Yes . . . at least, I think so,” Fiona said, and was surprised to realize that she wasn’t certain. What was wrong with her? Of course she wanted to go back to her own kind . . . didn’t she?

“I’ll help you, naturally,” Stewart went on. “I could do no less. But it won’t be easy. I’ll have to convince Wolf Shadow to allow you to go with us. Perhaps my daughter can be of help.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked thoughtful. Timothy cleared his throat loudly. “Oh, did you want something in particular, O’Brian?” Stewart asked. “Or did you just come in to interrupt my conversation with the lady?”

Fiona looked from one man to the other. Something was very odd here. In all her days, she’d never known a hired man to speak so boldly to a lord without being punished severely, and she’d never known a gentleman so much at ease with common folk. Either Cameron Stewart was not what he seemed, or the rules she’d lived by all her life had suddenly been changed.

“I wanted somethin’,” the frontiersman answered plainly. He offered his left hand, palm up, for inspection. Fiona noticed an angry red swelling at the base of his thumb. “Got a thorn in m’ hand. Yellow Elk said the lady was a physician o’ sorts.”

“Yes, I am,” Fiona replied. “Would you like me to take a look at it?”

“Yes, ma‘am. I dug some at it with my skinnin’ knife, but that only seemed t’ make it smart worse. Damned thorn’s workin’ in, ’stead of out.”

Fiona glanced back at Stewart. “Do you have any objection, sir, if I treat him in here?”

“Go ahead, by all means. That hand looks bad. You should have said something sooner. I’d have gotten Leah to see to it.”

Fiona opened her surgeon’s kit and removed the tweezers. Her curiosity was aroused. Who was the mysterious Lady Kentington? She’d seen no sign of an Englishwoman since she’d arrived in the village. “This isn’t bad,” she said, tilting Timothy’s hand to get a better look at the swelling. His fingers were short and thick, his palm square and solid. “It’s gone in deep, but I’ll have it out for you in a second.”

“S’all right, miss. I don’t half mind havin’ ye hold me hand.”

He grinned down at her. “Too bad your wife isn’t here to do this for you,” she said lightly. “Any woman with a sewing needle could tend to it.”

“Miz O’Brian is passed on, God rest ’er soul,” Timothy said, crossing himself with his other hand. “I’m a widow man, miss.” He flinched as she dug deeper. “Ouch.”

“There.” She produced the black tip of a thorn. “Now, just let me put some—”

“Naw.” Timothy jerked his hand free and rubbed it against his buckskin breeches. “ ’Twill be right as rain now.”

The sound of raised voices came from outside the tent, and one of the white men Fiona had seen earlier poked his head inside. “Mr. Stewart, the shaman is here to claim his woman.”

Wolf Shadow appeared in the doorway. “Cameron.” He nodded a greeting to the Scotsman. “Fiona.”

Cameron Stewart frowned. “Fiona? Your name is Fiona?” For a brief instant, Fiona saw a look of pain on his face. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come. “I thought—”

“She has no business here,” Wolf Shadow said. “Thank you for keeping her safe for me.”

O’Brian stiffened. “She stays with us.”

Stewart lifted his hand. “She claims she’s not your wife. She’s asked for my help in returning her to her own people.”

Wolf Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “You are a good man, Cameron, and Ross Campbell speaks for you. I will forgive your breach of manners in interfering in a private matter between husband and wife.”

The air between the two men seemed to crackle with tension. “I can’t let you hold her captive against her will,” Stewart said softly. “If there’s a question of payment, I’m willing to pay a ransom—” He broke off abruptly as a cannon exploded somewhere in the village, not far away.

At the sound of the big gun firing the men dashed outside. Fiona grabbed her medical case and followed close on their heels, nearly bumping into a slim, handsome Indian boy who was standing close to the tent entrance and carrying a musket taller than he was.

“Kitate?” Stewart said to the boy. “What’s happening?”

A second explosion resounded from the far side of the encampment. Fiona looked in that direction and saw blue-gray smoke drifting up above the wigwams.

“It is nothing,” the boy replied in precise English. “Roquette’s French. They show off small cannon.”

“Impressing the masses, eh?” Stewart said.

Wolf Shadow shrugged. “Some will be impressed. Matiassu has many followers.” He moved to Fiona’s side and took her arm. “This is Moonfeather’s son, Kitate. He’ll take you back to our wigwam.”

“Not against her will,” Stewart repeated.

Wolf Shadow’s jawline hardened, and Fiona saw a corded muscle flex on his neck.

“No trouble,” she said, “please. I’ll go with him.”

Cameron Stewart’s worried gaze met hers. “Are ye certain? I’ll help you if you want me to.”

“No. I’ll go,” she replied.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Stewart said to Wolf Shadow. “I can’t allow you to keep a subject of the English king against her will.”

Wolf Shadow nodded. “I will see you later, after the council meets. When we have finished our business ...” He squeezed Fiona’s arm lightly. “Kitate will keep you safe.”

The boy turned and walked away, and Fiona followed. After a few yards, she stopped and looked back. Wolf Shadow was watching her, and the expression in his eyes made her knees go weak.

He loves me, she thought. He really loves me.

She opened her mouth to speak to him, then closed it and continued behind Kitate. Cameron Stewart would aid her if she wanted him to. For weeks, she’d prayed for a way out of Wolf Shadow’s hands. Now that way looked clear.

Her stomach turned over.

No man had ever looked at her like that before . . .

Damn you for being a lovestruck simpleton, she told herself. No woman in her right mind would choose to remain with savages. If she stayed, she risked her immortal soul . . . and the soul of any children she might bring into the world. But if she left him . . . Oh, Heavenly Mother. If she left him, would she ever again know the sweet sensation of such a man’s adoration?

A
ll afternoon and into the evening more Indians continued to arrive at Tuk-o-see-yah’s village. Fiona was joined in Moonfeather’s wigwam by the peace woman, Wolf Shadow’s sister Willow, Cami, and the older matron Amookas. Kitate remained on guard outside the entrance.

“He grows, this son of yours,” Willow said to Moonfeather. She spoke in English, out of regard for Fiona.

Cami, Moonfeather’s nine-year-old daughter, covered her mouth with her hand and giggled softly. “My brother thinks he is a man.”

“Soon he will be,” Moonfeather said. “Don’t tease him. Wait until you’re thirteen; you’ll find it isn’t so easy.” She continued brushing her daughter’s long, straight black hair with slow, rhythmic strokes.

Fiona noticed how the peace woman’s eyes glowed when they looked down at the child and how carefully she ran the brush through Cami’s tresses. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Fiona remembered her own mother and how much she missed her. It was obvious that this little girl was greatly loved, not only by her mother, but also by the other women present.

Amookas made a soothing sound that conveyed her agreement without words. Her strong work-worn hands patted out comcakes, one after another, and laid them on a flat rock to bake in front of the fire. “Like a son to me, Kitate,” she said in her softly slurred English. “Almost he fill empty place in this one’s heart.” She patted her ample breast with the back of her right hand. “Empty left by a son who no longer walks this earth.”

Cami glanced at Fiona. “Matiassu killed Auntie’s son—Niipan’s twin brother—when I was a baby,” she explained. “He tried to kill me too. I have a scar on my neck where an arrow hit my cradleboard.”

Moonfeather began to braid the child’s hair. “Matiassu was tried and found not guilty by the council,” she reminded her daughter. “We cannot say he murdered my cousin, Amookas’s son.”

“Ptahh.” Amookas slapped a corncake on the rock with such force that it split in two. “If Tuk-o-see-yah not good man, good chief—if many feeble old men not stay on council—Matiassu pay for his evil.”

“It be long ago, Aunt.” Moonfeather’s Scots burr was thick with sorrow as she added another stick to the fire. “I loved my cousin dearly, but council word be law, and the Shawnee live by law. If Matiassu escaped punishment for the death of my cousin, it was written in the stars. He will answer for his deeds in time.”

“Aiyee, she speaks true,” Willow agreed. “The spirits have long memories.”

Fiona felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered Wolf Shadow’s missing friends, Beaver Tooth and Fat Boy. If the men were dead, as the shaman believed, she knew she must share the blame. If they had died needlessly, it had been because they were helping her escape. “Wolf Shadow thinks this Matiassu caused the disappearance of two men from his village,” she said. “They were good to me. I keep hoping they’ll show up safe.”

“No . . .” Willow shook her head. “My brother would know if they be alive. He knows Matiassu kill them. Proof he not have. Proof he
must
have to accuse Matiassu before council.”

“Enough sad talk,” Moonfeather said, securing Cami’s braids with white leather ties. “We ha’ reason to rejoice. Our families are going to be joined by blood.” She smiled at Fiona. “My cousin Niipan weds Willow this night.”

Willow blushed. “It be time. Too long I sleep alone.”

“She’s been a widow for six years,” Cami whispered to Fiona. “Since her husband and baby died of measles.”

“You’re going to be married? That’s wonderful news,” Fiona said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cami giggled again. “She didn’t know it. Auntie Amookas arranged the match today. She called her son, Niipan, and Willow together and told them they were wasting time. They liked each other, and they were both lonely, and they should be having babies.”

“Cami!” Moonfeather chided. “Hold your tongue. Is this how I’ve taught you to show respect for your elders?” The admonition was followed by a hug. “Ye chatter like a jay, child.”

“But Auntie did,” Cami insisted. “I heard her.”

Willow blushed. “You not tell everything you know.”

“Atchh.” Old Amookas beamed. “Child say only truth. Too long you and my son watch each other with deer eyes. He be shy of women. You shy of men. Good people good for each other, this one say.” She turned her bright black eyes on Fiona. “Two daughter I find this night.”

Moonfeather took a deep breath and caught Fiona’s hand. Fiona realized that everyone was looking at her instead of at the bride-to-be. “Amookas has agreed to become your mother in tonight’s ceremony,” Moonfeather said. “She will adopt ye into the Shawnee tribe.”

“Adopt me?” Fiona said in bewilderment. “But why?”

“Wolf Shadow ask,” Amookas replied. “Stop Roquette take you. You Shawnee, bond of paper mean nothing. Less than nothing.”

“A Shawnee woman is free,” Cami said. “Not even Roquette would dare touch one of us.”

“Not openly,” Moonfeather finished for her. “We know he has kidnapped our women, and bought and sold them. But Tuk-o-see-yah and the council would never turn ye over to him. They will protect ye as if ye be born one of us.”

Confused, Fiona looked from one bronzed face to the other. Moonfeather had offered her nothing but kindness. But what was she getting herself into?

“It’s for your own protection, nothing more,” Moonfeather said in her lilting tones. “It nay will keep you from leaving us, if that’s what you want.” She squeezed Fiona’s hand. “Trust me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt ye. Wolf Shadow asked me to adopt ye, but be better to come from Auntie. I be Wolf Clan. Now, you will be Wolf too—we will be sisters, thee and me.”

“And Wolf Shadow?” Fiona asked. “What . . . what clan is he?”

Willow shrugged. “He is Wolf, but he is all clans. A shaman must be blood kin to all clans.”

“What is law for most people is different for a moon dancer,” Moonfeather said. “Don’t try to understand our ways all at once—it takes a lifetime. Suffice it to say that you and I and Willow will be sisters.”

“And you will be my aunt,” Cami put in. She laughed again. “If my mother adopted you, we’d be sisters.”

Moonfeather held Fiona’s gaze with her own. “Will you let us do that for you, make you a Shawnee woman?”

“Do I have to give up my faith?”

“No. Adoption has nothing to do with religion. Among the Shawnee, all children come from God. They are His—only loaned to us. We adopt each other’s little ones as a natural part of life. And over the generations, we have learned to adopt adults as well. Family love is the greatest of all ties. We offer you this gift out of love, Fiona—nothing more.”

“Then I accept with thanks.”

“Usually an adoption, like a wedding, takes place in full view of the tribe. But tonight, Wolf Shadow fears that Roquette and Matiassu would use you as an excuse to delay the council meeting and to cause strife among the council members. Since adoption is a women’s matter, we will do it here. Once you are Shawnee, they can offer no more protest.”

“Niipan and I want same,” Willow said. “Blessing of peace woman only.”

“You deserve feast,” Amookas said. “Much eat, much dance. Be happy.”

“We will be happy,” Willow answered. “But this one rather be alone with new husband than dance.”

“So.” Amookas gave in gracefully. “We dance at birth of papoose.”

Willow blushed harder, and Cami giggled.

“Auntie,” Moonfeather said, “would you harvest maize before the first planting?” And even Fiona joined in the answering laughter.

 

Willow’s wedding was as simple as she had requested. Her bridegroom entered the wigwam a few moments later, followed by three other Shawnee women. He sat beside Willow while Moonfeather spoke briefly in Algonquian. Then Amookas offered her new daughter-in-law a freshly baked corncake. Willow broke the bread and offered half to Niipan. Everyone watched in silence as they ate the cake, then shared a gourd of water.

Next, Cami shyly unfolded a red woolen blanket and handed it to the bride. Willow draped the blanket over her shoulders, leaned close to her groom, and allowed him to pull the blanket over both their heads. Immediately there were exclamations of congratulations from the witnesses. Amid warm laughter and hand clapping, the two newlyweds ducked out of the wigwam and vanished into the darkness.

Now it was Fiona’s turn. To her shock, she found herself stripped naked before the gathered women. Cami offered her a container of warm water and whispered to her that she should wash her face and hands in it. Speaking softly in the Indian tongue, Moonfeather dipped her fingers in the water and sprinkled it over Fiona’s bare breasts and thighs. As Amookas took hold of Fiona’s arms and turned her around, Fiona heard Moonfeather give a small sound of surprise.

Fiona glanced into the peace woman’s eyes and saw that she was staring at Fiona’s amulet. Quickly Fiona covered it with her hand. A look of confusion crossed Moonfeather’s smooth face, and she reached out as if to touch the necklace.

Fiona shrank back. “It’s mine,” she stammered. “My mother gave it to me.” Why was the Shawnee peace woman so alarmed by the sight of her necklace? And why did the gold suddenly feel so hot against her skin? A strange prickling ran down Fiona’s spine, and she felt light-headed. It’s too warm in here, she thought. There are too many people.

“Where did you get it?” Moonfeather demanded.

Fiona took another step back, brushing against the bark-covered wall with her bare shoulder. “I’ve always had it,” she answered. The charm was so hot now, it seemed to scorch her fingers. She took a deep breath and then another, trying to clear her head.

Amookas began to sing, and Moonfeather backed away at the sound of her aunt’s voice. But she continued to watch Fiona from the shadows.

Embarrassed, Fiona remembered her indecent state of undress and tried to shield her nakedness from the chattering women. Then, to her relief, Amookas stepped forward and handed her a white deerskin dress. Quickly Fiona pulled it over her head.

Moonfeather gave Amookas a brush, and the older woman began to brush out Fiona’s hair. The peace woman never took her eyes off Fiona’s necklace. Someone passed a soft beaded headband to Amookas, and she slid it over Fiona’s unbound hair. One by one, the women came forward and offered gifts of jewelry: strings of beads, earrings, a beaded medallion collar, and shell ornaments to adorn Fiona’s hair. Amookas thanked each woman formally and fastened the jewelry on Fiona.

Finally Amookas clasped Fiona’s hand in hers and lifted it over the fire. She spoke first in Algonquian and then in halting English. “This be my child,” she said. “This my daughter. Her name shall be ...” Amookas stared at Moonfeather expectantly.

“Her name shall be Weeshob-izzi Chobeka Equiwa, Sweet Medicine Woman, and all of the Wolf Clan shall call her sister.”

There were cries of “Whoo, whoo” from the women. Still talking among themselves, they touched her, one after another, and filed out of the wigwam. Cami followed them, carefully balancing the water container.

“So,” Amookas declared. “Is done. We make good Shawnee squaw, you. Tell Roquette, go rot.” Then she kissed Fiona’s cheek and followed the others outside. Now only Moonfeather remained.

Fiona looked down at her hands. They were trembling. “Why ... why did you stare at my necklace like that?”

The peace woman shook her head. “Nay, this be not the time. We must gather around the campfire.” She offered Fiona a faint smile. “Leave your medicine box here. Don’t worry, it will be safe. The Shawnee do not steal from each other.”

“I want an answer.”

“And I’ve given ye all the answer I intend to ... for now.” Ignoring Fiona’s protests, she led her outside to a place near the center of the encampment where Tuk-o-see-yah’s Shawnee had gathered.

Dozens of Indian men, women, and children were seated on the ground around a hard-packed open area. In the center, a fire blazed in a wide stone-lined pit. The crowd shifted to allow Moonfeather and Fiona passage to the inner circle. “Sit here,” Moonfeather said, indicating an empty spot on a deerskin rug between two giggling girls and an elderly woman. “I have duties to perform, but you’ll be safe here. Roquette and his people are on the far side.”

The only light came from the campfire; the rest of the village was dark. Thick clouds hung low in the sky, keeping the moon from brightening the night. The air was cool and damp. Fiona was glad that the deerskin was beneath her and that she was close enough to the fire to feel some of its heat. She settled herself, cross-legged as the others around her were sitting, and waited to see what would happen.

The deep, resounding boom of a log drum came from the far side of the circle, and the crowd hushed. Another drum joined the first.
BOOM ... boom-boom-boom. BOOM . . . boom-boom-boom.
The two drums beat as one, but the second gave off a higher pitch.