Red Bird's Song (15 page)

She was almost too shocked to reply. “You said my name."

"Any name you like. I will cover you with furs. Trade for cloth you can sew. Feed you. Protect you. Be my wife."

This unwarranted tenderness was even more intimidating than his usual menace. “I can't. I belong to Wicomechee."

"Forget Wicomechee,” he whispered, lifting her and crushing her against his brawn. He was like an impassioned bear, and she cried out in his fierce hold.

He lightened his grip. “I will be a good husband. Hear me, Charity."

How on earth could she make him let her go? “You don't understand. Wicomechee is my husband."

His eyes were cynical. “No."

She desperately sought to remember the Shawnee word for ‘my husband’ Wicomechee had spoken the night they'd sheltered under the hemlock.
"Wyshetche!
Wicomechee is
Wyshetche!"

Chaka laid her back on the needles, staring at her. Before she contrived another lie, an unforgettable voice hailed them.

"Outhowwa heard you,” Chaka muttered.

She clutched his arm in dread. “Don't let him kill me."

"He will not kill you.” With clear annoyance, Chaka closed his hand around her wrist and pulled her up with him. Looking as though he'd rather be headed anyplace else, he propelled her through orange-tipped fern back to the trail.

A small group of warriors stepped aside to allow them passage through to Outhowwa. The chief's cold predatory gaze pierced her before he tore into Chaka, in Shawnee.

Chaka answered gruffly. She caught something about ‘the Englishwoman,’ then he bent close to his father and uttered the rest of his reply in such a low voice that Charity couldn't hear, even if she'd understood the words.

Outhowwa's annoyance was less marked as he turned the force of his regard to her. “Wicomechee is your husband?"

She didn't dare repeat her falsehood to him. “Wicomechee asked to be my husband. Chaka has no right to me."

"Yet he desires to make you his wife. In this, there is honor.” Outhowwa lifted her tangled hair and let it fall. He wrinkled his nose as though at a noxious scent, then he shrugged. “Chaka likes you much. He has one wife to keep. Still, he is good hunter, takes enough game to feed two."

"Two?” she echoed, beyond shocked.

"He will care for you,” Outhowwa emphasized. “For the little ones you bear him."

Dear God.
Would Outhowwa hand her over to Chaka, despite his antipathy to her? “Do not make me wed him. Please."

He studied her scornfully. “I do not force any woman to wed. You may choose."

If she didn't wed, Shawnee women would make her life harsh and break her back with hard work. Hardly able to believe her response, she gave a faint nod.

Outhowwa continued. “Chaka, Wicomechee are strong warriors. Speak your wish."

Numb, Charity said, “I choose Wicomechee for my husband."

Chaka scowled, but had no choice other than to abide by her decision with his father witnessing every word.

Outhowwa took her arm as though he sensed the urge to flee welling inside her. “Come girl. Wicomechee will keep you.” He sounded glad that his family wouldn't be afflicted with such a troublesome wife.

The other warriors fell in behind them as he pulled her along. They rounded a bend in the trail and nearly collided with Wicomechee's rapid approach. He stepped back, not fully concealing his amazement upon seeing her in the chief's grasp.

"Charity? Muga said he lost you on the trail."

Outhowwa brought her to a halt. Most of his words were lost on her, but she recognized
memequilah
‘run’ and saw the responsive anger in Wicomechee's face. Nor did the exchange between them lessen his cold fury.

Then Outhowwa held up his hand. “Will you take this woman to wife?"

Wicomechee gave a terse nod as though he would wed her, and then kill her.

"She will have you for her husband. Is this not so, girl?” Outhowwa prompted with vise-like pressure on her arm.

Charity bit her lip. “Yes."

Wicomechee watched her as he might a wild horse that might spring away at any moment, and this was how she felt.

"She needs Shawnee name,” the chief said.

Wicomechee replied without hesitation. “
Penashe Pocoun
,"

A faint smile crossed Outhowwa's mouth and he took her chin in his hand commanding her attention. “You are English no longer,
Penashe Pocoun
. Be an obedient wife to Wicomechee. Bear him many sons to grow into warriors, fight for Shawnee.” He placed her chilled fingers into Wicomechee's warm grasp. “Care for this woman, Wicomechee. Teach her our ways."

With that, Outhowwa turned on his heel and headed back down the trail toward camp. The rest of the assembly drifted off in his wake. Chaka stood unmoving for a few beats, and his face might have been carved from stone, then he spun away.

Charity stared after them. What on earth had she done?

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Chapter Ten

Wicomechee lowered his stare from the departing chief to Charity's dazed eyes. Damp hair spilled to her waist and the shift concealed little of her feminine form. She'd never looked more inviting, and it infuriated him all the more to think of Chaka ogling her, if that were the worst of it. He didn't seem averse to breaking every moral code they had.

Releasing her cold fingers, Wicomechee swept his hand at her. “Where are your clothes? Did Chaka tear them from you?"

A jumble of words tumbled out, almost as if English were her second language. Her explanation so astonished him, it took a moment to sink in. “So you go about like this?"

"I had a towel—Chaka took it,” she stammered.

Anger flared in Wicomechee. “You made it easy for him to take all. Your breasts show beneath this cloth. More."

With sudden self-awareness, she wrapped one arm over her chest. “Now you hide from your husband?"

Abandoning her attempt at modesty, she reached unsteadily to him for reassurance, but he wasn't inclined to offer any.

She dropped her arms. “Chaka only asked me to wed him."

"Outhowwa said. He also told me you tried to run away."

"I didn't. Will you listen to me or to him?"

The sting of betrayal sharpened Wicomechee's ire. “Why should I hear you?"

"Because I don't lie."

"You lie now. Chaka found you going away from camp."

"I had good reason—"

Wicomechee cut her off. “Enough."

He'd said all he intended to and propped his musket against a tree. She watched in marked uneasiness as he grasped her wrists in one hand and pulled a buckskin cord from the pouch at his waist with the other.

"What are you doing?” she gulped.

"Teaching you not to run."

"Don't!” she cried, trying to wrench away from him.

He whipped the cord around her wrists and knotted it.

"Dear God. Would you bind your wife?"

He frowned down at her. “I have none if she runs."

"I wasn't. Only thinking what I should do."

"You did more than think."

She pressed her cheek against his sleeve and the warmth of her body along one side, all he'd allow her to reach of him. “Don't be harsh. I beg you. Chaka stayed his hand."

A river of want flowed hotly through Wicomechee, but he was determined to resist her appeal. “I am fortunate not to find you claimed by him already."

"It wasn't like that. He was gentler this time."

"Chaka, gentle?” Those two words did not fit together and Wicomechee scrutinized her. Why must she be so fair, so frightened, confused? He badly wanted to gather her in his arms. And yet, this captivating girl had betrayed him as surely as though she'd twisted a knife in his back.

"Mechee, please. I'll not wander again."

"No. You will not,” he said, his voice harsh with hurt. “I will never trust you again."

Tears filled her eyes. “Give me a chance to explain."

He pulled her along the trail. “What will you speak? It is still in your head to run back to the English."

"'Tisn't my wish."

She seemed so sincere, but Outhowwa's revelation still burned in his mind. “You said you cared for me."

"I do."

"How do you show this? By running? I was a fool to believe you."

"No. Stop. You must hear me."

"There is nothing you can say."

"There is,” she choked out. “But you'll think me mad."

"I think you a traitor."

"Mechee—listen. I saw Craig."

He stopped in his tracks, eyes riveted on her. “What?"

Tears spilled down her earnest face. “If you'd let me, I could point to the spot."

He shook his head as if to clear it and to be certain he'd heard her right. “You told me your brother was dead."

"For two years."

"You saw his spirit?"

She inhaled shakily. “Only a glimpse, but Craig summoned me. I was seeking him when Chaka came. Do you believe me?"

Wicomechee didn't answer at once. He imagined her sighting someone, possibly Chaka, in the forest gloom. Given her longing for this lost brother, she'd mistaken him for her beloved relation. It wouldn't be the first time the shadows had misled someone. “I believe you think you saw Craig."

Her brow puckered. “I did. Will you punish me for this?"

He softened his tone. “I despise to bind you, but you were straying already. Why were you here, alone?"

"I was troubled and asking Craig what to do when he appeared. I saw him last year, by the river."

"If you see him again, will you follow?"

"I didn't mean to. Craig wanted me to come."

She said it so simply. Maybe she really had seen this spirit. Sometimes when loved ones were lost, those left behind sought them until they achieved that union, in the beyond. A warning, like a chilled hand, wrapped icy fingers around Wicomechee's heart. “Does Craig wish you to join him in death? You cannot live long in these mountains alone."

She startled. “Craig would never wish me harm."

"So badly you want this brother. I will not lose you to a spirit, real or imagined.” Wicomechee caught her up in his arms, crushing her to him.

She gasped in his near fierce embrace. He eased his hold, but possessiveness still raged in him like a wolf claiming its mate. “Promise me never again to follow Craig."

Her voice quavered as she asked, “How will I know for certain if he's there, if I do not?"

Everything in Wicomechee warned him not to back down. He refused to relent. “Give me your word, Charity. Now."

"You ask a great deal."

He fought for control. He mustn't frighten her away. “I know. For me, will you do this?"

"For you,” she agreed in a small voice.

"I will care for you, sweet one. You do not need Craig."

Still they stood as they were. She sagged against his chest. “Are you no longer angry?"

"You try me sorely, but my anger is flown.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled the fresh scent. “You said you will have me for your husband. Did you mean your words?"

The apprehension he sensed in her swelled and she whispered, “Yes."

"So fearful you are. Did I force you to wed me? Did Outhowwa?"

"No. But he urged me to choose between you and Chaka."

Wicomechee smiled faintly. The old fox had trapped her.

"I know nothing of being wed, and I scarcely know you."

"Would you like to learn more?” he coaxed.

"Yes...but not too much. Papa and Craig wouldn't approve of my marrying you. They would never forgive me."

"What of your merciful God? Do you pray to him?"

"I prayed for God's aid the morning you took me captive."

"Perhaps he gave you into my care,” Wicomechee suggested.

She lifted her head and looked hard at him. “Surely Papa and Craig would not dispute God?"

"You are meant to be mine, Penashe Pocoun."

"What does that strange name mean?"

"Red Bird. I know not where you will fly, what song you will sing. We shall see if you fly from me."

"I don't want to.” She tried ineffectually to close her arms around his neck. “I'm still bound."

"Yes."

"Surely you do not intend leaving me like this?"

He couldn't resist teasing her a little. “It is easier for me to keep you."

"But I'm your wife."

He weighed her tremulous declaration. “Are you?"

"I gave you my consent."

"Will you give me your pledge?"

She took a steadying breath. “As God is my witness, you have my pledge, Wicomechee. Is that your whole name?"

"Enough of it. You also have my pledge, Penashe Pocoun."

"That sounds so odd. Could you speak it in English?"

"If you wish.” He unknotted the cord at her wrists. “Shawnee warriors do not bind their wives."

She swallowed in evident relief then stiffened again. “What do they do?"

"I will teach you. More than words are needed for you to be mine. I will take you to myself."

Her eyes opened wide. “Now?"

He dropped the cord in his pouch. “No. We must return to camp. The others watch for us."

She regarded him as one awaiting torture. “Tonight?"

"Calm down. Do not distress yourself. My love is not punishment."

The word seemed to catch her. “Do you really love me?"

"My heart,
kitehi
, is yours."

She was silent, searching, her eyes wistful, yet guarded.

"Have you no love to speak?"

"Telling you what is in my heart is difficult,” she faltered. “You are a warrior."

Again, that sharp sting bit at him. “Charity, if you deny my heart, you deny your own."

Raw silence hung between them like a wound as Charity trudged behind Wicomechee along the darkening trail toward camp. He'd lent her his shirt and his bare back was just visible in the last of the light. His unique scent enveloped her and the garment swallowed her down to her knees.

Ahead through the trees a series of campfires lit the dusky sky. Breezes carried the comforting fragrance of wood smoke and the mouth-watering aroma of roasting venison.

"Do you no longer fear smoke will attract the militia?” she asked.