Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series) (3 page)

“
You are certain?”

She faltered as images of the British Legion charged through her mind.
“If they have, it’s wrong. Don’t you see?”

“
Wrong is easier for you to determine.”

“
What do you mean, easier for me?”

Shoka sat back against the oak.
“You come from much. If all is taken from you, will you still speak this way?”

“
I don’t understand.”

The honking of wild geese cut in as a wedge flew overhead, their shadowed wings beating across the full moon.
“More and more settlers come, like birds covering the sky. If Shawnee do not fight, no land will remain. Where will we go then to hunt, to live?”

“
I never thought—I know nothing. I’m a newcomer.”

“
I see this.”

She chafed at his disdain.
“I’m also English. If you’re so bent on killing us, why did you save my life?”

“
I do not like to see a woman struck down. To make you my captive is better.” He took a smooth stone from the fringed beaded pouch at his waist and slid his knife across it to sharpen the blade. “Tell me your name.”

“
Rebecca Elliot.”

He seemed pensive for a moment.
“I like this name.”

Twisting the gold and onyx ring on her middle finger, she asked,
“What will you do with me?”

He sliced another piece of venison and handed it to her.
“Feed you. Keep you safe.”

She relaxed a little, a very little.
“Is that all?”

“
Is that not enough?”

“
I mean—” she hesitated, “men usually require something more for their protection.”

“
Ah.” He wiped his blade on a leaf and sheathed his knife. She bit into the meat as he said, “I will not keep you with me. You will go to the French.”

She stopped chewing.
“Why?”

“
Would you rather stay with the Shawnee?”

“
No. But the French—I couldn’t possibly.”

“
This is not for you to say. You have much beauty. A French officer or trader will pay me well for you.”

She sucked in her breath, nearly inhaling the unchewed bite of venison still in her mouth, and lapsed into a violent fit of coughing. He tilted her forward and whacked her on the back.

“Don’t—I’m so sore,” she gasped.

“
You prefer to choke to death?”

Recovering her voice and crushing the remaining venison in her first, she blurted,
“I prefer not to be sold like a slave to some stinking Frenchman. I hate the French!” She scrambled achingly to her feet. “Oh—I should have perished with the men.”

Shoka grabbed her arm and forced her back to the ground. Though he wasn
’t harsh, she winced.

“
Do not run from me, Rebecca Elliot.” Her name rolled off his tongue in a foreign accent with a hint of French.

Molten rage bubbled up inside, and she fired back.
“Why don’t you just shoot me?”

“
You do not wish for death. You feared poison.”

“
That was before. Now I wish it had been poison.”

“
Be glad I spared your life.”

“
Glad? Have you no honor that you would make me mistress to a Frenchman?” She rushed on furiously. “If your knowledge of English doesn’t include mistress, try whore!”

Laughter and unintelligible exclamations broke out behind him. He clapped his right hand over her mouth, wrapping his left arm tightly around her.
“I know these words. Many do. Guard your tongue,” he growled.

She wrenched to escape him, moaning at the effect on her bruised body. But she
’d be damned if she’d go passively to this unthinkable fate.

“
Stop. You pain yourself,” he warned.

Pain was no stranger, and she fought to tear away from him. If she could just get an elbow free, Shoka would find it thrust in his gut.

“I will bind you.”

She ceased her struggles at his threat, knowing what it was to be bound. A harsh father had toughened her.
“I hate being bound.”

Sobs rose up from her chest and tears blurred her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and over his hand. She battled to stem the torrent, despising her helplessness and hating for him to see her weakness.

Still gripping her, he freed her mouth. “If I were a man I’d fight the French!”

“
You would fight as a woman.”

Heads turned, and her captor was assailed with incomprehensible comments.

“
Peh wa naga ma’chihi yeama tamseh
!” Meshewa called.

Shoka groaned under his breath.
“My cousin fears for you.
Tamseh au weshelashamamo
!”

Whatever he answered seemed to satisfy most of the men, who returned to their meal, although Meshewa kept an eye on her.

“I said you are well,” Shoka explained.

“
I am not.” She tugged the lace-edged kerchief from around her bodice to blot her eyes and wipe her nose.

“
Enough. Wabete cannot abide a woman’s weeping.”

“
Which one is he?”

“
My brother. The warrior with many scars.”               

That brave
’s fierce expression did nothing to ease her distress. “He’ll just have to kill me, then.”

“
I will not let him take your life.”

“
No. You won’t get much for a dead mistress.”

“
Must you speak this? I will find a Frenchman who will treat you well.”

“
Damn all French—” a hiccup jarred her incensed outcry, followed by another and another.

“
You will make yourself ill,” he chided.

“
Good. Maybe I’ll die.”

“
Hush. I take you to the water.”

Despite Shoka
’s gruff tone, he gently helped her up and guided her down the ferny bank. The brilliant moon cast a silvery path across the tumbling water, lending a dreamlike quality to an already surreal night. He clasped her shoulder to prevent her from toppling into the stream as she knelt unsteadily to drink. The icy water quieted her hiccups.

Splashing her tearstained face, she wiped her hands on her gown.
“I need a towel.”

“
I have none.”

The breeze whipped her wet cheeks.
“I’ll chap, lessen my beauty,” she said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

He knelt and smoothed the moisture from her face with his fingers.
“So soft your skin is, like the fur of a rabbit.”

The tenderness in his voice and touch discomforted her, as did the odd fluttering he stirred inside. He was a disturbing blend of man and warrior and unique to his kind. She masked her uneasiness.
“Appraising my value?”

“
I know your worth. Come.” He rose, pulling her up.

“
Not yet. Please.”

“
Will you hold to me and plead as you did before?”

She had a fleeting, inexplicable urge to press back against his hard chest.
“Would you like me to?”

“
My brother fears so. Still, we stay a while.”

He supported her over the short distance to a stand of hemlocks. They sat on the cushion of evergreen needles with a sheltering stone at their backs. The wind didn
’t buffet her now and he tucked the blanket around her, but exhaustion and a troubled spirit made her more susceptible to the frigid air. Her teeth chattered, and she shook from head to toe.

“
You grow too cold. I will take you to the fire.”

“
Not yet,” she pleased tremulously.

“
More you weep? You will swell your eyes closed.”

“
I won’t fetch you a good price, then.”

“
Shhhh.”

Anger flooded her.
“Don’t hush me. How dare you sell—”

Again, he silenced her. Though his palm did not clap over her mouth as forcefully as before.
“You wish to stay? Be still.”

Sliding his hand from her lips, he circled his arms around her. She wanted to rage at him like an angry sea but didn
’t have the strength. He should not be holding her like this. He was taking advantage of her vulnerability. Despite her fury, though, he felt so good, the only comforting presence in a grim spiral of pain and confusion. Her trembling diminished as she absorbed his warmth, and her tears subsided into an occasional sniffle.

Drowsiness washed over her and deepened the sense of unreality. It seemed to her that there was some dire matter she must attend to, but she couldn
’t think what it was. Closing her eyes, she drifted with the soothing flow of water.

A finely furnished bedchamber took shape in her mind, and she was back in her canopied bed in Philadelphia. More contented than she
’d been in months, she snuggled under the embroidered coverlet. Her chamber door opened. An elegant young man entered wearing the scarlet uniform and gold braid of a British captain. Hope soared. She held out her arms.

Cha
pter Two

Shoka knew he shouldn
’t be off by himself with Rebecca Elliot, let alone holding her. The last thing he wanted was to lose his head and already shredded heart to yet another beautiful woman, this one with blindingly blue eyes. So why was he sitting here cradling her? He knew that too. Even wrapped in the blanket, she was so soft and curved. Sweet perfume clung to her, but she’d given him a blistering taste of her fury. Not only that, she was English. Worse—a lady and totally unsuited to his way of life.

He
’d been in the company of Englishmen long enough to have a fairly good idea of what her world entailed, not remotely like his. And the arrogance of most English infuriated him, typified by her astonishment that he spoke her tongue. He thought of the only Englishman he trusted, Father Andrew. As for his other British allegiances, well, he’d thrown himself into the fray fully allied with the tribe.

Rebecca stirred sleepily, disrupting his silent tirade. He was acutely aware of her every gesture, each word uttered in her lilting accent. That equally annoyed him.

A whispery sigh escaped her. “John?”

An unwanted jab rifled through Shoka. This man, whoever he was, meant a great deal to Rebecca. Yet, somehow, in her drowsy confusion she
’d mistaken him for John. If she trusted him, even a little, she might confide more.

“
No, fair one. Who is John?”

She woke more fully, her reply shaky.
“My husband.”

“
Perhaps he will purchase your freedom,” Shoka offered, irritated with how this possibility bit at him.

“
He can’t. Captain Elliot was killed this spring fighting in the north. A French officer shot him.” 

“
Many fall. It’s war, Rebecca.”

Sitting up straighter, she beat clenched fists against his chest in a wave of rage.
“Damn this bloody war!”

Her grief was volatile. Shoka pinned her hands.
“Will you battle me now?”

She didn
’t hesitate. “I’ll fight anyone, if I must.”

“
Who taught you to fight? Your English captain?”

“
My father.” Her reply was sharp with bitterness.

Another confidence shared.
“Where is he?”

“
In London.”

“
Too far to aid you.”

“
Aid me?” Rebecca echoed darkly. “Papa would only buy me back to sell me again.”

“
His own daughter?”

“
Papa called it marriage, to a very wealthy man.”

“
You despise wealth?”

“
No. Cruelty. I feared what my life would become at Lord Carlton’s hands.”

“
You were to wed an English lord. What did you do?”

“
Ran away to America with Captain Elliot, a kind man of small fortune. We had so little time together. He was often away with his regiment—” her voice broke.

“
Enough tears. You will love again.”

“
Some Frenchman?” She wrenched her hands against Shoka’s restraint but couldn’t tear free. “I’d sooner die.”

“
You have the temper of
peshewa
, the devil cat.”

“
No man wants a devil,” she said in a savage whisper.

“
Yet one so beautiful, with hair the color of honey and eyes like the sky.” Releasing her fists, he gave into the temptation to stroke her smooth cheek…the curve of her neck. He fingered her locket and the lace at her bodice. “Like a butterfly in winter. Never have I seen such a woman in the frontier. Why have you come?”

She trembled at his light touch and pushed his hand away.
“My sister Kate and I were going to our uncle—” with a low cry, she collapsed back against him. “Oh Kate. She’s lost and alone.”

“
Warriors will find her. I will tell them to do her no harm.”

“
Thank you—” her voice hitched again. “I’ve looked after Kate since Mama died. She fled England with John and me, to Philadelphia.”

“
You are far from there,” Shoka said, leading her into deeper disclosures.

Rebecca spoke in a muffled quaver.
“I couldn’t stay.”

“
What of this uncle?” he pressed.

“
Henry McCutcheon is Mama’s brother and very fond of us. He wrote over the years, so we decided to come to him.”

“
With the Long Knives.”

“
Who?”

“
The soldiers we killed today.”

She answered like one in a dream.
“They were sent from Fort Loudoun in Winchester to the fort we needed to reach.”

“
Where does this fort lie?” he coaxed.

“
In the—” she halted as if suddenly aware of her indiscretion. “I can’t remember.”

“
You forgot where you’re going?”

“
The knock on my head. I’m befuddled.”

“
What of the fort’s name?”

“
I can’t recall just now.”

“
You forget much. How do you know your uncle is there?”

“
I don’t for certain. Kate and I hoped someone at the fort would help us find the McCutcheon homestead.”

“
You hoped for this? You are foolish to come, Rebecca Elliot. Many settlers flee these mountains. Others lie dead. Did the Long Knives not tell you war is fierce here?”

“
Yes,” she sniffed. “We thought they could protect us. Besides, we had nowhere else to go.”

“
I do not mind your coming, fair one. Now I have a captive of much value.” And the sooner he sold her, the better. He had a war to win, and she was fast getting under his skin.