Red Bird's Song (16 page)

"All food taken on the raid is gone. We must eat."

"Did you shoot the deer?"

"I killed
peshikthe
, returned to find you gone."

Remorse kindled in her. She quickened her step to match his and walked at his side. “I won't go from you again."

"Like the child you run. I fear to let you from my sight."

She held out her hand to him. “I'm sorry."

His warm fingers enfolded hers and sent little prickles up her arm. Why did he inflame her the way he did, she wondered, baffled by her opposing emotions.

Hand in hand, they walked to the fire where Colin and James sat in a circle of warriors. The little boy leapt up and dashed over to them, Weshe darting just behind. “Like this, you run,” Wicomechee said. “The dog also."

James interrupted any further comparisons. “Charity! Did you run off? Chaka said you did.” Not awaiting a reply, he squinted up at Wicomechee. “Did you punish her?"

"No, small one."

"Good,” James said, with touching relief. “She's wearing your shirt. I told her she weren't decent."

Wicomechee smiled at the boy. “Go find her cloak."

James and the dog scampered off and Colin waved them over. He patted the empty spot beside him, evidently reserved for her. The usual humor was absent from his demeanor. “Sit, dear heart. I have a bit to say. You've caused quite a stir."

Seated braves eyed her over their pipes and talk buzzed through the gathering as she settled beside him. Sympathy softened Colin's firm expression. “Poor girl. My brother's brought you in like a lost puppy. Still, you don't appear to have suffered any. Chaka was certain he would beat you."

Wicomechee glared at the sullen warrior sitting at a distance from the others. “It is him I should punish. He tried to make her his wife."

"Best leave him to lick his wounds,” Colin advised.

Wicomechee shrugged, apparently willing to bide his time.

"I will get meat.” He strode to where the spitted venison roasted over glowing coals. His amiable comrades hailed him, some plying him with what seemed to be questions.

Colin tossed a stick into the fire and a shower of sparks sizzled up against the night sky. “What on earth have you been up to? I hear you've a husband now and a Shawnee name."

Her head swimming, Charity stared into the flames and tried to grasp her altered state. “I'm not certain. It all happened so quickly."

"So I gather. You've had quite an evening."

"And it's not over. What am I to do with a husband?"

"Don't fret. Wicomechee will guide you."

"But I don't feel ready for whatever it is husbands do."

James swooped down on them, her cloak flapping in his hands. “Charity's got a husband?"

"She has,” Colin said matter-of-factly. “Wicomechee."

"Is that ‘cause she ran off?"

Colin wrapped the cloak around her. “No, lad. She needed him anyway."

"Ain't it a sin to wed a warrior?"

Charity groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

"No. It's not. Stop pestering her and go tell Emma she's safely returned."

Charity peered through her fingers as James ran toward Emma's blanketed shape lying on the far side of their campfire. Lily was tucked by her side. “How is she?"

"Resting, or trying to. She's been fretting over you."

"I didn't mean to worry her, or any of you."

"It can't be helped with your knack for trouble. Chin up, little sister. You'll adjust to life among the Shawnee and being wed. Wicomechee's a fine fellow."

"But he's not English."

"Even so, I'd trust him with my life, and there are many Englishmen who would gladly put me in my grave."

"I suppose I trust him, too, at least when he's not furious with me. It's just—he's a man."

Colin chuckled. “Husbands normally are."

Answering laughter resounded behind them and she turned to find Wicomechee, a blanket over his shoulders, holding a trencher of streaming meat. His eyes danced with mirth. “You must give her more pity than this, Waupee."

"Your turn now. I must rescue Emma from James."

"Won't you eat with us first?” Charity invited.

Colin stood. “I already have, thanks to Wicomechee. He alone was successful in the hunt. Best shot I know. He can fire from a greater distance than anyone and strike his mark."

She swiveled her head to gaze admiringly at Wicomechee. “Craig was good with a musket, but not that good."

The firelight reflected his pleasure in her praise. “I have greater skill than your brother?"

"Yes. You're full of secrets."

"Perhaps a few.” He took Colin's place beside her.

He'd quoted her own words, she realized.

"More than that, I'll wager."

He shrugged and stuck his knife into a slice of venison then held it out to her. She took the buckskin-wrapped wooden handle and bit into the smoky meat, chewing hungrily. “This is good. I've missed venison."

He nodded. They ate in silence, but men's voices hummed around them. The same word repeated in their conversation.

"What does
wanisaka
mean?” she asked in between bites.

Wicomechee's lips twitched. “Crazy, foolish."

She flushed. “They're talking about me, aren't they?"

He set his empty trencher aside. “You listen well. They also say you are beautiful."

He circled his arm around her and warmth washed through her in a pulsing wave. His lips hovered at her ear, and he spoke in a voice only she could hear. “Do not be frightened. You fear what you do not understand."

"Why is it everyone seems to know of love making except me?” she whispered. “Were you born knowing this?"

"All must learn."

"How did you?"

"How else? From a woman."

An unfamiliar emotion swelled in Charity that could only be defined as jealousy. “Who was she?"

"My wife."

She reeled in shock as that newly sprung sensation ripped through her. “You never spoke of a wife."

"No. I did not have Mequana for long,” he said, a sad note in his low voice.

Chastened, Charity asked, “Did you love her, very much?"

"For her, my heart was full."

"But I thought—” she broke off. How could she tell him that she'd believed herself to be his first and only love, and earnestly desired his undying devotion to belong to her alone? “What happened?” she asked instead.

"She died of white man's sickness. Many die from this.” He pointed at the sky. “See that long white path?"

The cloudy luminescence arched across the vast black vault of the sky among glittering stars. “The Milky Way."

"That is the road to heaven. Mequana has traveled this."

"You believe in heaven?"

"Manito guides us there if we do good. If not, we go with Matchimanitoh, the evil one, to punishment."

"Forever?"

"No punishment lasts forever. That is not just,” he said, speaking her unvoiced sentiment.

"We also pray for forgiveness, so there's a way out."

"Have you a truth-bearer to carry your prayers?"

"I've never heard of this."

"When Shawnee pray, we burn tobacco, sacred to us. This carries our prayers to Manito. If we have none, we use another truth-bearer, the wind, fire, feathers of the Eagle."

"That makes no sense. Why not just pray?"

"How can you expect to be heard?” he asked in return.

"I just do. Will you insist that I believe as you?"

"No. Believe as you like."

She absorbed his acceptance with gratitude. This was more than anyone except Craig had allowed her. “Thank you."

"For this, you thank me?"

A blazing light streaked across the sky and captured her attention. “Look. A falling star. Quick—make a wish."

"You wish upon
alagwa
, the stars?"

He could hardly have sounded more incredulous if she'd declared that she could fly. “Craig said I might."

Closing her eyes, she offered a tentative but fervent wish that somehow, someway, she and this most unlikely of husbands would be happy together. It seemed impossible.

"For what did you wish?” he asked as she looked up.

"It won't come true if I tell. Did you make a wish?"

"No need. I have all I desire in you."

"Do you really wish for nothing more than me?"

"From you, I will have all I want. Look closely upon the road to heaven. See the small stars? This is where little ones wait to be born."

"Ours?” she blurted, evoking glances from curious onlookers. “Yours and mine?"

"Who else's? You will give me strong children of much beauty."

"I'm very afraid to."

"Charity, you told me you are alone, without family. I, too, have lost all of my blood, save for
Nimesoomtha
, my grandfather. Together, we will have much."

"Perhaps, if I survive."

"You are strong like the deer."

"And frightened like the rabbit. Chaka was right."

He chuckled. “Do not fear anymore this night. I will not take you to myself now,” he whispered.

She listened in an odd meld of relief and disappointment. When would he?

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Chapter Eleven

Gray, pre-dawn light filtered through the woods. The rich hues of autumn awaited the sun's golden touch to bring them to life. Her hand in Wicomechee's, his shirt beneath her cloak, Charity walked at his side, her troubled thoughts circling around the fact that, at least to his people, she was wed to a Shawnee warrior. And she'd given him her pledge before God. Her yearning for him clashed with everything she'd been taught and transcended all she knew. How could she reconcile herself to the bitter enmity between their people?

It seemed to her that truly loving anyone incurred a great deal of risk to one's heart. And if she were parted from him now, the memory of him would go with her all of her days...a painful ghost.

Wicomechee bent back the branch of the large sourwood and gestured ahead to where mist rose over the spring. Slowly, he released her fingers. “I will wait for you. Make haste."

She watched his bare back disappear into the leaves then knelt by the pool to drink and refresh herself. Only the clear whistle of a song sparrow broke the serenity. Her petticoats and bodice were draped over the spice bush where she'd left them and nearly invisible in the subdued light. Dew had saturated the cloth. Nothing in her wanted to feel that wetness against her skin. Leaving her clothes to the coming sun, she twisted off a fragrant twig from the bush and chewed the spicy bark as she walked back through the trees.

The clustered trunks gave way to grass and the grayness brightened in the clearing. Her shoes, stockings, and the edges of her cloak were soon soaked. Even at this hour, though, the balmy air felt more like August than October. She'd expected Wicomechee to wait nearby, but didn't see him.

There. He waved to her from the other side of the meadow, his muscular shoulders silvered in the light. An impulse to be near him sent her running in his direction.

He did the same. His long legs carried him toward her in smooth ground-covering strides, and the race was on to arrive at mid-field first. Milkweed pods released fluffy white seeds, like tiny sails, on the barely-there breeze. Just as they were about to come together, she skidded on the grass. Her feet slid from beneath her and she thudded onto her back. Her surprised gasp dissolved into muffled giggles.

Wicomechee put on a burst of speed and reached her in moments. Panting from laughter, as much as exertion, she smiled up at him. “Was that fast enough?"

He smiled back. “Like the wind. Yet you lie at my feet.” He pulled her up, and held her against him. “Ah, Red Bird. I never thought to hunt with one so fair."

"Or so clumsy. Craig never took me. He said I'd only be a nuisance."

"You are no nuisance.” Wicomechee pressed his lips over her cheek and lightly kissed her mouth, his first kiss since the evening she'd begged him to stop.

A potpourri of sensations, like contrasting scents, flowed through her as he lingered tenderly at her lips, releasing her with the same reluctant restraint he had before.

"Are you certain ‘tis only hunting you want me for?"

"Why do you ask this?” Humor tinged his voice.

He led her across the meadow and into the trees bordering it on the other side. They followed the path their party had taken yesterday to ascend this ridge.

"Is the hunting good back this way?"

"Very good,” he said.

The path dipped sharply and grew rough, like a dry creek bed. Grooves scarred the earth where the soil had been washed away by countless rains. Stones of all sizes littered the ruts. She stumbled on a loose stone, lurching forward. Only his grip kept her upright.

"Must I carry you, Red Bird?"

"No—I'm—"

She startled as he scooped her up and leapt across a wide furrow in the trail. His moccasins landed noiselessly in a patch of fern at the edge. Cradling her to him, he spun her around in a circle.

She clung to his neck as misty leaves whirled by. “Mechee!"

"Shhhh—you will frighten my game,” he chided, laughing under his breath.

"Behave yourself, then."

He stopped twirling and buried his face in her neck, eliciting exquisite tremors. “With you, I am always gentle."

"Yesterday you almost weren't,” she reminded him.

"You gave me much cause for anger."

"Am I truly forgiven?"

His warm lips hovered at her ear. “How can you not be?"

Her heart pounded like the little wren's she'd once held in her hand. “Will you put me down now?"

He set her upright in the fern. Squeezing her fingers, he sprang back onto the path and led the way while she followed more slowly down over the uneven ground. The trail leveled off a bit. The ruts smoothed out as waxy mountain laurel leaves closed in around them, blocking their view of the forest and preventing any route other than the close path.

After about twenty minutes of a brisk downhill trot, she saw the laurel thicket give way to a rocky outcropping scattered among the trees and a tangle of grapevines. He motioned to her and ducked behind the rocks.