Red Bird's Song (24 page)

Chapter Fifteen

After three stormy days the afternoon sun shone brightly. “Finished,” Charity said to the small dog, her sole companion, and straightened from the river bank. Her newly washed hair dripped to her waist and she wore only her damp shift and moccasins. The clean laundry she'd spread over naked shrubs made the bushes appear as though they'd sprouted dripping linens rather than leaves.

Gazing at the turbulent waterway, she was struck again by how splendid the
Kenahway
looked glinting in the light. It plunged like a living beast between the ridges jutting high above it, as unlike the river rippling beside the meadow back home as a panther from a kitten.

No meadow spread here. Poplar trees strung along the edge of the water vied for room with sycamores and underbrush. The yellow blooms covering naked witch hazel made an unlikely spot of color along the rough path worn by countless wild animals and sometimes wilder men.

Few settlers came this way now. Many fled their remote homesteads during the recent Indian Wars. Only the very brave or the foolhardy would bring their families out here now to scratch a living from the narrow valleys and hollows tucked among these rugged mountains.

Wet and shivering, Charity searched out a large flat stone farther along the bank and stretched out lengthwise on its sun-warmed surface. Weshe curled on the patchy grass beside her. How good the heated rock and wash of gold light felt to her goose-pimply skin.

"We'll head back in a bit,” she promised herself and the small dog.

If Wicomechee returned from hunting while she tarried here, Emma would send him down from their camp, just a stone's throw away up the side of the ridge...and he'd slip beside Charity. She smiled, envisioning what would follow. Wrapped in happy thoughts of him, she dozed like a cat in a sunbeam.

Growling broke through her drowsy stupor. She roused at the beagle's insistence, but heard only the roaring water. Had the warmth lured a snake from its den—worse, a bear?

She sat up guardedly. “What is it, Weshe?"

Seeing nothing out of place, she swiveled her head and stiffened. A small group of men were approaching with laden pack ponies. Bends in the trail and the river's roar must have concealed the newcomers from her watchful companion until they were only about thirty yards away. She'd never expected to meet anyone out here, let alone white men. Were they trappers? Beaver, mink, foxes, and deer abounded along the river. Would the strangers pass on by harmlessly? They lay between her and the path back to camp.

Weshe growled more insistently and the fur rose on his hackles. Charity's flesh prickled in warning. The men's rough appearance alone didn't fully account for her mounting dread. Frontiersmen often dressed this way. A crudeness in their demeanor, something indefinable that reminded her of Neville Paxton, sent alarm coursing through her. The biggest man even resembled Paxton, with long dark hair and an unkempt beard. But this fellow was far larger—a giant.

"Is the wench real or a spirit?” one man called out.

"Been terrible long since I've seen such a lass. What a find, spirit or no,” said another.

Terror engulfed her in a paralyzing tide. She must flee, but as in the cave with Chaka, her body would not respond.

The giant stroked his bushy beard. “The lass is real enough, and someone's been fool enough to leave her for me."

The others hooted. “You'll share her with your friends won't you, Reed?"

"I make no promise."

At last, Charity found her voice. “Mechee! Colin!” she shrieked. Colin was up grooming the horses—not far away.

"Who're you calling, lass? Think they can hear you?” the giant taunted.

Like a friend turned murderous traitor, the surging river had become her enemy. Jerked fully to life, she jumped off the stone and fled like the deer Wicomechee had compared her to. Unhindered by cumbersome skirts, she dodged the largest rocks and sprang over others, leaping from stone to stone, Weshe at her side. This rough ground was worse than the riverbank back home, but her moccasins barely touched down.

"Give it up, gal! We're on your tail!” a male voice shouted from behind her.

Summoning every last ounce of speed, she bounded forward even faster. With luck, she'd spurt well ahead of the men and find a place to hide then sneak back to camp after they'd gone on. A sharp stitch ate at her side and pains stabbed her burning chest as she raced through stands of dock and mullein. Nettles stung her bare legs above the moccasins like bees.

Scouting ahead, she saw her way blocked by a jumble of brown boulders and granite slabs. She skirted the landslide and skidded to a stop before a thorny patch of brambles. There was nothing for it but to go higher up the gravelly bank—but that route was barred too. Grape vines and thick brush brought her to a halt. She pushed and clawed to get past, fingernails breaking, palms scratched and bleeding. Without an ax or tomahawk to chop her way through, she had no hope of an outlet.

Her pursuers would flush her from cover and run her down like a hunted animal. Or trap her where she was. Half-running, half-sliding, she raced back down to the river. A man with a long, brown braid down his back was almost on her. Not far behind him came the giant. Either she must climb the treacherous slide, be torn to ribbons by the brambles, or—a towering sycamore stood within reach.

Breathless from flight and terror, she darted to its white mottled trunk and leapt up. Weshe whimpered, circling the trunk, as she caught the lowest branch and pulled herself up into the tree. She flung one leg over the branch, scrambled to gain her footing and stood. Immediately, she reached her arms toward the next. Midway up the tree she glanced down at the two men stopping at the base of the trunk. Chests heaving, they leered up at her.

"You a bear cub?” the big man called, and then gestured at his lean, shorter companion. “Go after the wench, Jack. I'm not much of one for climbing trees."

Fear choked her as the man called Jack hoisted himself up into the tree and climbed up the branches, his braid swinging behind him. “Give it up, gal! I can go high as you!"

Only one choice remained. Shaking so hard she could scarcely crawl, Charity climbed out onto the limb that extended over the water. Below her, leaves, sticks, and fallen branches swirled by in the foaming brew.

"Stay back!” she shouted at him.

"Easy,” Jack cautioned. “You don't want to fall. Come now,” he coaxed, easing onto her perch. “I'll not harm you."

"Stop! I'll jump!"

"You're crazy!"

"I can swim!” she shouted over her shoulder.

"Not in that you can't. You jump, you die."

A sense of unreality washed over her. “Then I die.” If she didn't give herself time to think, just let go—

"You don't want to go and do a fool thing like that!” the giant shouted up at her. “I'll treat you right."

"And I surely will.” Jack edged farther out the branch.

"Mechee!” Sobbing his name, she swung herself over the limb and clung to it, her feet kicking in the air. “Touch me and I'm letting go!"

Jack froze. “Steady, now. Don't waste yourself. Would this Mechee want you dead?"

"You want him to find your body dashed against the rocks?” the giant called.

Wicomechee's eyes appeared in Charity's mind weighted with inexpressible sadness.
Live, Red Bird. I will take you back
. His assurance came to her as though she'd heard him speaking in her ear. She owed him the chance to try.

Arms shaking with exhaustion, she appealed to the man crouching above her. “Help me! I can't hold on much longer!"

"Thought you'd see sense."

Jack scooted nearer. Gripping the branch with his legs, he bent down and seized her arms. The next thing she knew, he pulled her up onto the limb and into his grasp. Dazed, trembling, she collapsed against him.

"There, there, Jack'll see to you,” he crooned, and towed her back to the trunk, leaning against its support. “Hey, don't I get a thank you?"

He was out of mind if he thought she'd offer him one.

"I just saved your life, sweetheart.” Gripping her chin with rough fingers, he forced her face up. Lust lit his beady black eyes as his thin lips swarmed over hers. The sour odor of whiskey and sweat offended her only slightly less than Paxton had. At least Paxton hadn't kissed her.

She shuddered, enduring Jack's ardor while fighting through a haze of mind-numbing panic. What would Wicomechee have her do? For once, she must think before acting.

"Hand the girl down!” the giant shouted.

Jack ran callused fingers over her cheek. “Half a shake, Reed. She's the prettiest thing I ever saw."

This horror couldn't be happening. Charity thought she'd be ill or faint as Jack's demanding lips clamped back over hers. At least his vile mouth kept her near camp. The longer she remained where she was, the better her chance of rescue, she reminded herself.

"Get down here! She ain't out here alone!” Reed balled.

Jack paused long enough to peer down at the exasperated man pacing below them. “Give me your word I get a piece of her before I hand her over."

Reed pulled his beard. “What you gonna do if I say no? Sit in that damn tree until her man shows up and shoots you?"

"Come on, Reed. You and me go way back."

"You can have her after me,” Reed said gruffly.

"What'll be left? Ain't you better suited to a cow?"

"Cheeky bastard! I'll cut your pecker off!"

One of the men left with the pack horses dashed up to the fuming giant. “What in blazes are you two waiting on?"

"Jack's up there,” Reed grunted, pointing.

The newcomer shielded his eyes against the sun and squinted up at them. “Girl holding you prisoner, Jack?"

"Reed'll kill me if I come down."

"Hell, Reed. Let the man down afore we got trouble."

"Hain't I been after him to shift his ass—now, Jack!"

If Jack did as he ordered, they'd leave just as fast. “Don't, Jack,” Charity urged. “I'd rather stay with you."

"Right grateful to me after all, eh?” he gloated.

"Jack!” Reed bellowed.

"Better do as the old bull says,” he grumbled, and lifted her to the branch below. He climbed beside her and she had no choice other than to let him lower her down. “Here you go,” he muttered, handing her to Reed. “Remember our bargain."

Reed closed massive arms around her. “After what you pulled, you'll be lucky to get anything."

His stench was as repulsive as Jack's and there was far more of him. Her fear ratcheted up ten-fold and she fought to pull free and touch her feet to the ground. “I can walk!"

Reed's hard brown eyes met hers. “And run. I seen you."

She realized with a sick weight in her gut that Reed wasn't the fool Jack was. If he hauled her away, she'd have no chance to flee. Wicomechee wouldn't be able to fire a shot without the risk of striking her. Weshe barked madly as she twisted in his unyielding hold. “Let me go!"

"You think that's what I been waiting around for?” Reed flung her over his shoulder and started back the way he'd come. The other two men fell in behind him, Jack glowering with resentment.

"Get your hands off me!” she cried, kicking at Reed's girth, encased in a coarse brown shirt. She beat her fists on his back as his colossal buckskin-wrapped legs quickly covered the stony ground.

"Fight away.” He tucked his unwelcome arm more snugly around her scantily clad bottom. “Suits me just fine."

Reed's jarring stride swung Charity in full view of Jack's sullen gaze, like a belligerent crow's. “No fair going after all the good parts while I'm back here,” he griped.

"I'll hold the girl any way I damn well please."

Weshe ran alongside Reed, baying and nipping his heels. With a scrabbling jump, he leapt up and bit into his knee.

"Get off, you bugger!” Reed yelled, kicking out an enormous booted foot. He caught the dog in the side and flung him out of the way. Weshe yelped and scrambled up. Dashing back and forth, he baited Reed as he had the bear, dodging his kicks. “Can't have the yapping beast following us."

Charity swung her head as Reed took a pistol from inside the breast of his shirt where the overlapping cloth formed a pouch. “No!” she screamed, knocking at his hand.

The smoky shot tore past the dog, grazing his side, and sent him yelping off up the river. Tears blinded her. At least Weshe had escaped. Maybe he'd bring Wicomechee.

"Now who's the idiot?” Jack demanded. “If anyone's around, they'll hear that and come high-tailing after us."

Charity thrashed in Reed's meaty grip. “And track you down! You're all good as dead!"

He rounded on her. “Knock my arm again, and so help me, you'll regret it.” He shoved a rude hand under her shift and parted her thighs in warning. “Quiet down or I take you now."

Jack bristled. “Thought you were in an all-fired hurry to get out of here?"

She seized her opening. “Stop him, Jack. I want you."

"Told you I should be the first one with her, Reed!"

"Like hell.” Reed strode over the track beside the river.

His fingers rode horribly near her unprotected thighs. If she stirred up a fight between them, she might escape in the confusion. “Don't you want me for yourself, Jack?"

"Not much chance of that."

She tried another tactic. “Reed's hurting me!"

Jack dashed forward and grasped his burly arm. “What're ya’ doing to her?"

"Nothing. Yet."

"Get your hand out from under her shift!"

"I'm barely touching her."

"Yeah? Why's she taking on so?"

Reed shifted Charity in his arms. His flinty eyes scrutinized her. “What game are you playing?"

"No game. Jack, help—"

"Call to him one more time, and by heaven, I will hurt you,” Reed growled.

Jack charged in front of him. “Why? ‘Cause she fancies me?"

"Don't be a damn fool. One taste of those soft lips and you've lost what little sense you had. Gone off your head like a crazed cockerel."

Fists clenched, Jack danced back and forth. “Set her down. I'll show you a fighting cock."

"Challenging me are you, you strutting little bantam?"