Red Bird's Song (11 page)

In one lithe movement, Wicomechee was out of the water. With three short strides he stood over her, his black hair streaming. “You attacked Chaka first?"

She stared up at him, shivering in her wet clothes. “He provoked me,” she faltered. “ I only tried to knock him down,"

Disbelief mixed with the potent censure in Wicomechee's eyes. “Is this a fight you thought to win?"

"I didn't mean for it to be a fight."

"It is well Chaka has much desire for you, or I would find my fair captive with her throat cut."

"He made me so angry. I didn't think."

"No. You did not. Come, Charity. We will speak.” He appeared on the verge of a great deal more than that.

She waded behind him back across the pool. Emma and the children pressed around Colin. Emma clasped trembling fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Charity, whatever possessed you?"

"I can guess that easily enough.” Colin reached his hand to Wicomechee's shoulder. “Let me handle matters if there's any trouble with Outhowwa."

He arched one brow. “You are the calm one?"

"Not so much where Chaka's concerned. But better than you with his father."

Wicomechee shrugged. “You speak."

The men caught up their weapons and supplies. Charity pulled on her stockings and shoes. Colin headed up the trail with Emma and the children. Wicomechee fell in behind him, his displeasure with Charity evident in the set of his shoulders. She grabbed her cloak and followed. The wrap did little to ease her chill or trepidation.

Camp lay above the falls in the grove of hemlocks. Their boughs rocked with the evening breeze. Thin high clouds like soft white fish scales laced the sky. A change was coming in the weather, though there was no sign of impending rain beyond the swirls overhead. She sensed a change coming for her too.

As their subdued group approached, they found warriors eating chestnuts, cornmeal and the last of the ham carried off on their raid. Some sharpened knives or cleaned muskets. One animated group was playing a game of cards before the light faded. Campfires were still taboo for fear of detection.

Outhowwa sat, flanked by warriors, his back against a large stone. Some men recently come from the stream walked between them, but the eagle-eyed chief took in Colin and Wicomechee's damp, battered state and shifted his study to Charity. His mouth tightened at the sight of his son.

"
Umbe
Chaka,” he said, motioning to him with his fingers.

Charity waited in an agony of suspense. Would Chaka rush to Outhowwa with accusation? To her surprise, he approached his father with evident reluctance. Arms crossed over his chest, he stood in rigid silence as Outhowwa questioned him.

Chaka strained each short syllable through his teeth.

Clearly dissatisfied, Outhowwa pressed him for more.

"
Naga
,” Chaka bit out, and strode away.

Colin and Wicomechee exchanged glances. Colin left his little band with Muga and walked to the exasperated chief. Charity slipped behind Wicomechee and peered around him.

Earnest words passed between the two men. Then humor hinted unexpectedly in Colin's face and a slight smile curved Outhowwa's hard mouth. Colin sat beside him. Their conversation flowed more easily, the mood lighter.

"Come, Charity.” Carrying his blue-black blanket, Wicomechee stole from the camp. She followed at his heels through the hemlocks, past rhododendrons. He stopped on the other side of a thick white cedar. “Here. Speak softly."

They were only yards from the others. “Are we hiding?"

"No. Just keeping away for a time."

Her skirts dripped steadily onto the carpet of needles. “What of Outhowwa? What did Colin say to make him smile?"

Wicomechee slipped off his musket and laid it on the ground with his blanket. “He said you wish to be a warrior."

She couldn't be certain if he were serious. “Really?"

Wicomechee's supplies joined the musket, and he took off his vest. “Waupee said you are a foolish woman who thinks to fight his son. Warriors laugh at you both."

She clutched trembling arms around herself. “Is that why Chaka is so angry?"

"You caused him shame."

"What of Outhowwa? Is he still angry with me?"

"Not so much.” Wicomechee stripped his shirt over his head, exposing the chiseled planes of his chest.

Apprehension undercut her sense of relief. “Are you?"

He spread the fabric over a green bough and draped his vest. “Speak later. Clothes must dry. We can make no fire."

"I can't undress with you here."

"You prefer to freeze? I will share my blanket."

"At least turn your head."

Wicomechee looked away, watching from the corners of his eyes as Charity dropped her cloak beside his pile. She tugged at her bodice, fumbling the ties with grape-stained fingers.

"Blast these laces.” She shook all over.

"Let me help you,” he offered.

"Oh, all right. I grow more chilled by the moment."

He freed the sodden cords, peeled the bodice from her, and tossed it to the fragrant tree. He undid the drawstring at her waist and pulled the saturated petticoats to her knees. She shivered out of the bedraggled heap. Her shift clung to each rounded breast and puckered nipple. The pleasing sight nearly took his breath away.

"You're enjoying this,” she protested through chattering teeth.

He smiled and swept his admiring gaze over her. Despite her slender build, her breasts would spill over his hands if he cupped them, and her hips curved enticingly. He fingered the drawstring at her neck. “You would be warmer without this."

She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt at modesty. “You are not removing anymore. I'll be naked."

"Yes."

"You are not supposed to be looking at me,” she chided, and grabbed up her cloak to wrap in.

"How can I stop my eyes from such beauty?"

She settled, shaking, beneath the cedar. “Do you truly find me beautiful, stained from grapes, my hair a tangle?"

He knelt beside her and ran his fingers through the damp spill covering her like a second mantle. “Truly, I do."

"Perhaps purple becomes me,” she said with a half-smile.

"Any color.” He sat at her side and closed the blanket around his shoulders then drew her beneath the cover. “I will warm you, feed you. Then we will speak."

She shook against him. “I hoped you'd forget that."

"No. Though you give me other thoughts."

"Good ones?"

What a guileless girl. He was acutely aware of her body pressed hip to hip against his. She kindled a fire in him that shot a scorching signal to his loins. If he weren't careful, all rational thought would flee.

"Very good.” Taking slices of jerky from his pouch, he handed them to her.

She bit into the meat, darting glances at him. A pink blush stained her cheeks and she looked away.

What had triggered the flush and averted eyes? Did her feelings flow as his, like a swift stream?

She ate in silence, seemingly doing her best to conceal her emotions.

He took hickory nuts already separated from their shells out from under the blanket and gave them to her. She devoured her share and he crunched his, enjoying the nutty flavor. “Would you like these?” he asked, dipping his hand back into his pouch and opening his fist to reveal the tiny red berries.

She looked wonderingly from his offering back up to him. “When did you gather them?"

"While you warred with Chaka."

"Oh.” She lowered her guilty gaze. Scooping up some of the berries, she poured them into her mouth and slowly chewed.

He chewed the remaining portion.

She seemed to come to a decision. “I'm sorry...for most of what I did, anyway."

"Only most?"

"Surely, you can't expect me to regret everything? Not after what Chaka did to me."

"You risked much. Who taught you to behave this way?"

"Craig said never to let any man get the best of me."

Wicomechee doubted she had any real idea what he meant. “If I had not come, Chaka would have gotten more than this."

"He taunts me. He's infuriating."

"Can you not hold your tongue, pretend not to hear?"

"He called me a scared rabbit."

Wicomechee considered her in bemusement. “For this, you struck him?"

"No. That's why I tried to knock him down."

"You are like a small dog who attacks the wolf. Must I tie you to a tree?"

"Why won't Chaka leave me be?"

"Has no one told you anything of men?"

"Not really. I asked Colin. He said to ask Emma, only she won't tell me. Or my husband, when I have one."

Wicomechee's chuckle interrupted her.

"I was being serious,” she reproached him.

"I see this. Also see something more. You asked me to tell you what Chaka wishes."

Charity weighed him with a cautious look. “So?” “My brother told you to learn from your husband. Do you want me for your husband?"

Her mouth fell open. “I—just thought you might say."

"I prefer to show you."

She blinked at him.

He closed his arms around her and pulled her inviting softness against him. To his delight, she sank into his embrace. Her smooth back was firm beneath his hands. “Be my wife, Charity. I will teach you what you ask, give you much pleasure."

She stiffened as if catching herself. “I can't. You ask the impossible, Mechee."

He pressed his lips to her damp hair. “Why do you continue to speak this name? I think you can say Wicomechee."

"I hardly know. It's more of a feeling really."

"Tell me,” he invited.

"Wicomechee is a warrior I fear. Mechee is...my friend."

He blew lightly into her ear. “I would be far more."

A tremor ran through her. “I mustn't let you."

Not only her wonderfully responsive body, but her words betrayed her. He pounced on them like a sharp-eared cat. “Now you say mustn't. Before, you say can't."

"Can't, mustn't, shouldn't—what's the difference?"

"Shouldn't is weaker still,” he pointed out.

She buried her face in his shoulder. “I wish you didn't speak English so well."

He chuckled. Not once had she said she didn't want him. He smoothed her hair aside and pressed his lips down the curve of her neck. “Do not hide from me, sweet one."

Goosebumps flushed over her. “I'm afraid to do anything else."

"Why? Am I harming you?"

"No—"

"What of this?” he asked, untying her cloak at her neck.

"I'll grow cold if you take that from me."

"Not in my arms.” He spread the cloak beneath them and coaxed her down onto the earth, covering them both with his blanket. Turning onto his side, he held her to him. Only her shift lay between them and her breasts swelled against his chest. He took care to shield her from his pulsing loins. “Are you still frightened?"

"Some."

Yet, he felt her pressing nearer. “Do you like my touch?” he asked, loosening the drawstring of her shift and sliding his fingers over her smooth shoulder.

"Yes,” she admitted with a shiver.

"Why such fear to wed me?"

She sighed. “How can I betray my father and all the others who died at Shawnee hands? Your people are brutal."

"I do not ask you to wed my people. Only me. Am I brutal?"

"Not just now."

"Never to you. Tell me again why you cannot care for me."

She struggled to reply as though his nearness muddled her mind. “It's not that I don't care. I can't wed my enemy."

She gasped as he slid his hand lower and rested it just above her left breast. Her heart pounded beneath his fingers and it was all he could do not to let them stray. “Your heart agrees not with your words. Why not do as your heart wishes?"

Her chest rose and fell under his palm. “My heart forgets you are Shawnee."

"Let us see if your lips remember,” he coaxed, and curled his fingers around her cheek.

"Don't kiss me. Please."

He halted a whisper away from her lips. “I will not, if you do not wish it. Tell me you do not."

"It's not that I don't wish it. I mustn't."

"Again you speak this. Can you not do better?"

Settling his lips over hers, he silenced her faint refusal. Her mouth parted beneath his and all his feelings for her swelled inside him. She pressed his lips in return...the elusive spirit of the trees bending under his persuasion and giving back to him. What bliss it would be to join himself to this fairest of women. And if she conceived with his seed, what a strong beautiful infant she would bear. These imaginings charged him with even greater desire, as though he'd swallowed the most powerful love potion.

Twice he released her mouth only to surge back, covering her lips again. A small whimper escaped her but she did not try to break away. And he couldn't possibly get enough of her lips. Her kiss was honeyed torment, her scent heated his blood. Whether she understood what she did or not, she called to him and he longed to drink great draughts of her nectar.

"Enough—no more—” she pleaded, flushed against him.

"Ah, Charity. I could make you my wife now, so easily."

"How? We haven't even exchanged vows."

Even in the deepening dusk he saw her perplexity. Groaning at her ignorance, he forced himself to stay his hand. “So tempted I am to take you."

"But you will not?"

"Not without your consent to wed. I give you my word."

"I cannot give you mine."

She would drive him mad. There was only one immediate solution. “I will return you to your cousin."

Still, she held to him in all her alluring sweetness. “Must I go from you?"

Despite being nearly wild with frustration, he smiled. “You will not agree to wed me, yet you wish to remain in my arms?"

"What will happen if I stay?"

"Do you really want to know?” he whispered.

"Better take me to Emma."

"Hide by her while you may."

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Chapter Eight

Charity gazed around her in amazement. How had she come to be in this grand room? Never had she beheld such luxury.