Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series) (7 page)

Rebecca dug in her heels, churning the leafy earth beneath her feet.
“You’re walking me into a snare.”

“
Not one of my making. Have courage, Peshewa.”

All her courage had fled. Her legs were so weak they scarcely supported her as he compelled her through camp. At first she didn
’t see a soul; then the flames of the campfire flickered eerily over warriors clustered at the far side.

“
Why do all gather there?”

As if in reply, the sharp slap of a cord striking flesh and a man
’s deep groan carried above the voices. With sickening dread, she realized. “Dear God. They’re beating the soldiers.”

“
Yes.” Shoka’s manner was grim.

Her chest pounded like a savage drum. She stumbled through the warriors who admitted them to the inner circle as though they were expected. It struck her horribly that she was. Even more awful was the tortured state of the soldiers.

Lieutenant McClure reeled from a crack to the jaw. The other man whose name she didn’t recall lay on the ground groaning weakly. Their faces were swollen, bleeding, their clothing torn and stained red.

“
Make them stop, Shoka!”

“
I cannot. Only for you will I fight my own.”

The warrior brandishing the braided cord lashed out again at Lieutenant McClure
’s back. The force of the blow hurled him to his knees then toppled him facedown onto the ground.

Rage coursed alongside her fear.
“Leave him alone, you monster!” She pulled to break from Shoka and run to the lieutenant’s defense.

Shoka held her back.
“You think to stop him?”

“
Will no one?” she asked, crushing her face against him.

“
Do not hide, Rebecca. You must speak.”

“
You ask too much.”

“
It’s not I who asks, but Black Knife. Look.”

Lifting her head, she stared through her tears at the chief. An older warrior still in the vigor of manhood swam in her vision. Gray streaked his scalp lock, but he stood straight and tall. A silver gorget shaped like a half-moon hung at his thick neck, and a calico shirt covered his broad shoulders and long torso. But it was his black eyes that commanded her unwilling attention. These eyes missed nothing. And they were fixed on her.

At a nod from Black Knife, the beating ceased. The soldiers lay doubled over on the ground, moaning. Blood smeared their bruised faces and ran from split lips. Scarlet stripes crisscrossed their raw backs, a searing pain she understood. She looked from their broken bodies to the chief. This man was without mercy. Suddenly light-headed, she swayed against Shoka.

His arms enclosed her.
“
Chwek’queese mi’dologo tamsah, callaweelo, naga ma’chihi melona
,” he said firmly, calmly, but she felt how rigid he was.

Black Knife
’s gleaming eyes studied them both. “
Peh chee yeama tamsah
?”

Shoka nodded. The crowd murmured as he spoke.
“
Ilani keteia weshe naga welah ma’chihi atn angehote yeama tamseh
.
Wabete, Meshewa wa miPaw’wekom
.”

Wabete and Meshewa pushed through the assembly and stood beside him as if to show their support. The murmur grew to a rumble. Some heads nodded while others shook.

Though frightened and bewildered by the incoherent debate, Rebecca didn’t miss the cunning behind the chief’s ingratiating smile.

“
Shoka, why do you fear I wish to harm your captive?” he asked, reaching out his hand toward her.

She assumed the English was for her benefit, recoiling from the mature warrior as she might a scaly lizard. She flattened herself against Shoka.

Black Knife lifted a long strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “Am I such an old man you think I cannot see how fair she is?” He let her hair fall around her shoulders. “Yet we need the knowledge she possesses.”

“
Speak with her,” Shoka agreed.

A hush settled over the assembly and Rebecca found herself the chief
’s sole focus.

“
What is your name?” he asked.

“
Rebecca Elliot,” she managed between shallow pants.

“
Why such fear, Rebecca Elliot?”

She looked beyond this circle to the two men lying prostrate on the ground. They were bloody evidence of his cruelty.

“Are you a Long Knife soldier?” the chief asked. “You are a woman of much beauty. Why would I treat you as a man?”

His quiet manner was meant to lead her where he wished her to go. She had no doubt he would treat her just as brutishly if she proved uncooperative.

“What I ask is not difficult. You were in Fort Loudoun?”

She nodded uneasily.

“What is Loudoun’s strength? How many men have they?”

“
I am told Loudoun is the strongest fort in the Virginia frontier. Soldiers number close to one hundred.”

“
Have they good supply of powder, lead, muskets?”

“
I didn’t see inside the magazine where supplies are stored, but the men appeared well armed.”

Plainly, he already knew this and continued to his real question.
“Where were you going with the Long Knives?”

“
To the upper South Branch region.” This was more than she’d told Shoka, and she desperately hoped it would satisfy the imposing chief.

“
It is large, this region. Where did you think to go?”

She inhaled deeply.
“To a fort.”

“
I know many forts. Tell me the name.”

If she told him their destination was Fort Warden, he
’d know the soldiers were sorely needed there as reinforcements. The men at the fort numbered as few as eighteen, and not all of these were fit to fire a musket. And she’d heard talk of other weaknesses, the shortage of powder and lead, livestock wandering off or taken, crops difficult to tend when the settlers were forted up.

“
Name of fort,” Black Knife repeated.

The waiting warriors leaned in closer, intent on her reply.

She steeled herself. “I can’t tell you.”

His mouth constricted into a narrow line.
“No?”

God have mercy
. “No.”

A low growl rumbled through their observers.

“Oh, Rebecca,” Shoka groaned.

Black Knife pinned her with a displeased glare. He spoke tersely to Shoka in Shawnee. The anger in his words scorched her even though she couldn
’t understand a syllable. Listening in dread, she searched the blur of faces around her. Wabete glowered with disapproval. Pity shone from Meshewa’s eyes. Was she about to die? The crush of bodies smothered her.

“
Shoka!” With a strangled cry, she turned to him.

Black Knife dug his fingers into her shoulders and whirled her back around.
“No, Rebecca Elliot. You will watch.”

At his nod, four warriors fell upon Lieutenant McClure and the second man and dragged them, moaning, to their feet. She
’d expected the chief to retaliate against her. Why was he further tormenting the soldiers? Only partially conscious, they couldn’t tell him anything even if they were willing.

“
No! They’ve been punished enough!” She strained toward the men, but Shoka held her from behind and forced her to stand in helpless agony while they were bound to either side of a tree. Sobbing, she struggled to reach to him, to burrow into his strength, but his unyielding arms prevented her. “Shoka! What’s happening?”

He didn
’t answer. The four braves were spreading dry kindling in a circle with practiced speed around the trunk a short distance from the men. “No! You can’t do this!”

One brave carried a flaming stick from the fire and lit the brush.
“ Shoka—stop them!”

He remained mute with seemingly no intention of doing anything beyond restraining her. Wild to break free, she exerted every sore muscle against him.
“Don’t make me watch! I can’t bear it! Let me go, you bastard!”

Her struggles made not the slightest difference. Weeping, she hung in his grasp. How could she have thought she had tender feelings for this man? He was as hardhearted as Black Knife.

Through her hot tears and frustration at her impotence, she felt the heat of the chief’s imperturbable gaze. “This is your doing, you devil. May you rot in hell.”

He stared at her without a twitch.
“It is not I who will make them burn, Rebecca Elliot. You can end the torture now.”

She shut her eyes to the triumph in his.
Forgive me, Uncle Henry, dearest Kate
. “Put out the fire. I will answer your questions.”

Chapter
Six

Near to swooning by the end of her grueling trial, Rebecca slumped in Shoka
’s arms when he lifted her. He didn’t say a word to the unrelenting chief or any of the onlookers, but bore her back across the darkened camp. His pity for her mixed with exasperation and fury with Black Knife, the long-toothed old boar.

She scarcely moved and loosed only the barest whimper as Shoka laid her on a blanket at the far side of the campfire nearest the big oak that marked their site. The flames flickered over her pale face, her eyes closed under a fringe of lashes…so fair, so vulnerable, and so maddening.

Rebecca stirred restlessly, twitching her head from side to side. “No,” she moaned as though in a troubled sleep.

Shoka knelt beside her and laid a comforting hand on her upper arm. He glanced around at Meshewa
’s quiet presence. Concern shadowed his cousin’s face, and he held out a pewter flask.

Shoka took it with an appreciative nod, knowing how much Meshewa prized his take from the Long Knives. With a long look at her, Meshewa stole away. No one else came near. Even Shoka
’s irate brother had wisely allowed him time to brood.

Rebecca tossed again.
“Don’t,” she pleaded in a low cry.

Shoka slid his arm under her shoulders and held the flask to her lips.
“Drink,” he said, tilting a little brandy into her mouth. Perhaps it would help to settle her and it was all he had at hand.

She swallowed, coughing, and swallowed again.

He administered several more sips and took a swig of the warming brew himself before recapping the flask.

She lay back more heavily on the blanket then rolled onto her side.
“John?” she murmured.

Temptation rose alongside the grinding wrench in Shoka. He stifled his resentment at the unwelcome name and lay down beside her, drawing her into his arms. She nestled against him with a sigh that drove another spasm through his gut.

“I feared so for you,” she whispered sleepily.

“
I am here.” Shoka slipped his fingers through her loose hair burnished in the fire’s glow.

“
Don’t go, John,” she begged him, as if sensing some reason why he couldn’t stay.

“
No, sweetheart,” he soothed, using the term of endearment so familiar to the English.

“
I was never with child,” she confided tremulously.

“
Do not weep for this. You soon will be.” Shoka circled his arms around her inviting softness.

“
But you’re so often away. Too long, this time.”

“
Shhhh…” He slowly settled his mouth over her drowsy lips. Unlike the vixen he’d battled earlier today, this woman offered no resistance, only melting warmth, yielding all the sweetness he could want, like the first taste of amber honey dripping from a comb.

Whatever else John Elliot was he
’d been the most fortunate man on earth. Shoka had never taken such pleasure in a kiss, but gnawing hunger accompanied the satisfaction surging in him. He groaned under his breath. Now, he’d only crave her more.

****

Seething over last night’s ordeal, Rebecca paced back and forth while sipping the cup of sassafras tea Meshewa had given her. The hot, spicy infusion took the edge off the morning chill, as did the blanket wrapped about her, but nothing eased her black mood. Like a leashed dog, she did not dare stray from the watchful eyes of the few warriors remaining in camp.

“
Bloody awful ordeal,” she fumed, dwelling on Black Knife’s interrogation the night before.

No doubt he
’d dragged it out to punish her. And when she’d broken down into sobs, the impassive chief had simply waited until she grew articulate enough to speak, seeing through her every attempt at evasion.

Throughout it all, Shoka had remained silent and forced her to face her antagonist. She might as well have been bound to the tree along with the soldiers for all the comfort he
’d given her. Blast him.

She must have fainted by the end of her trial. Vague memories of Shoka carrying her to the campfire flitted through her mind. She recalled nothing after that…except for a tantalizing sweetness that tugged at the edges of her distress like the whiff of some lovely scent. Had she dreamt of John? Only a fleeting sensation returned.

Likely this was Shoka’s fault, too, robbing her of precious dreams. He had much to answer for but wasn’t among the few men left in camp. Like a leashed dog, she didn’t dare stray to seek him. She stopped pacing. “Meshewa.”

Looking up at her summons, he left a comrade with a leg wound to his pipe and walked to her on silent moccasins. The sun filtered through the trees, dappling his face and shoulders, setting his hazel eyes alight every few steps.
“Have you more hunger?”

“
No. Thank you. Where have all the men gone?”

He studied her closely, as though seeking an ulterior motive.
“They watch trails for enemy warriors, Long Knives.”

“
Did Shoka go with them?”

“
No. He hunts. You look ready to spring, like
Peshewa
.”

She felt like a crouched panther flicking its tail.
“’Tisn’t you I wish to attack.”

“
Fly at no one, Becca.”

“
After what Shoka put me through last night?”

“
You wish to fight my cousin?”

“
Oh, yes.” She moodily took a sip from her cup.

“
How do you think to win?”

“
I’m not sure, exactly. But I can make his life difficult.”

Meshewa
’s black brows shot up. “Much more can Shoka make your life difficult. Are all English ladies so determined as you?”

“
Hardly,” she scoffed. “Many of the gentlemen are little more than sniveling milksops. I am not easily defeated.”

“
You think Shoka is?”

She frowned at the reddish coals in the gray ashes of the campfire.
“He betrayed me to Black Knife.”

“
No. He did what he must to preserve your life.”

“
That is not my idea of protection. I’m sore all over.”

“
You fought him. If Shoka did not keep you safe, you would be much sorer today. Like the Long Knife.”

“
Long Knives,” she amended. “There are two.”

“
One man died in the night.”

She flung down her cup and splashed hissing tea against the embers.
“Confound it. I thought I saved them.”

“
The lieutenant lives.”

“
Poor fellow.” She sought Lieutenant McClure’s figure through the trees, but didn’t spot him. “How badly injured is he?”

“
Much. Yet, he will live.”

Pushing the blanket from her shoulders, she set her hands on her hips.
“He had better. Or doesn’t Black Knife keep his word?”

“
Do not fear. Black Knife admires his courage.”

“
Black Knife is a weasel-faced bastard,” she ground out.

Warning darkened Meshewa
’s youthful countenance. “Do not speak this.”

“
It’s the truth.”

“
Say it more, I will bind your mouth.”

“
I’d like to see you try...”

Stern lines in every contour of his young face, he gripped her shoulders,
“Becca—”

Raising her arms with a sudden snap, she thrust his away.

Before she could blink, Meshewa grabbed her wrists and spun her around so that her back was turned to him. She kicked a leg behind his, shoving herself backward to knock him off balance. He stumbled and his grip loosened slightly. Tearing an arm free, she drove her elbow into his stomach.

He grunted. Dodging the second elbow she aimed at his middle, he snaked his arms around her from behind.

She thrashed in his tight coil, kicking back one leg then the other. He sidestepped her pummeling legs and locked her ankles between his. Clapping one hand over her mouth, he imprisoned her with his other arm.

“
You are fortunate I like you much,” he said.

She had greatly underestimated the strength and speed of his lean body. Despite the pain she caused herself, she bucked in his hold.

“Be still!”

“
So, Meshewa, you must tame a devil cat.”

Rebecca swiveled her head at Shoka
’s low voice. With his uncanny stealth, he pushed through the branches, a gutted deer slung over his bare shoulders. She could only glare mutely at him.

“
Becca’s mouth causes her much trouble,” Meshewa panted.

“
Yes.” Shoka shifted his kill down to the grass. Blood from the fresh game reddened his bronzed skin.

She watched warily as he propped his musket against the silvery-white sycamore then slid off his powder horn, shot pouch, and beaded elkskin hunting bag to hang them from a limb. He deposited his
—her—pistol at the base of the tree and pivoted toward them.

“
Give me this wild one.”

“
Do nothing foolish,” Meshewa whispered, and transferred her to his cousin.

Shoka closed muscular arms around her and swept her off the ground. Her petticoats spilled over his raw masculinity. She didn
’t trust the unsettling edge that underlay his calm demeanor. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded the instant her mouth was free.

He swept her off the ground.
“To the stream. Water will teach you respect.”

Coming to volatile life, she twisted like captive prey in his arms.
“No! You’ll drown me in this heavy gown!”

“
Only where the water is deep. I won’t throw you there.”

“
Don’t throw me anywhere. I detest cold water.”

He smiled, showing strong white teeth.
“I know.”

Easily suppressing her struggles, he sprinted with her through dewy ferns and grasses. The green bank rushed by under his moccasins. He did not stop but stepped over the mossy rocks at the edge of the stream and waded right in. The water rippled up past his knees and wet the bottom of her skirts.

She cringed at the chill lapping her ankles. “You are cruel, Shoka. John would never do this to me.”

“
I am not your husband, Rebecca.”

“
And shan’t be.”

“
You prefer a Frenchman now?”

“
After last night I prefer almost anyone to you.”

“
I saved your life, Peshewa. You cursed Black Knife to his face.”

Anger roiled above her loathing of the icy stream.
“Damn Black Knife! I hate him!”

“
He cares not. You will learn to hold your tongue.”

A screech escaped her as the frigid water climbed up her stocking-clad legs. She recoiled from the stabbing chill and clung to him.
“Don’t throw me in. Please.”

Bemusement flickered in his eyes.
“Like the wind you blow. First you defy me, now you plead.”

This was the time to bargain. She closed her arms around his neck for dear life.
“I won’t curse Black Knife again.”

He stopped in mid-stream above the deep pool.
“No. You will not.”

Prying her arms from his neck, he tossed her, back first, into the water. Liquid ice covered her head. The shocking cold took her breath away. She pushed up on the gritty bottom with her hands, spluttering as she struggled to stand in her wet, binding skirts.
“You son of a—”

He shook his head and shoved her back under.

She surfaced once more and staggered in the current. The layers of cloth wrapped her legs like manacles. “Bastard—”

Yet again she was dunked beneath the water. It was impossible to get to her feet, let alone at Shoka with any degree of speed or grace. He remained maddeningly unperturbed and out of reach. Chilled through, she clambered to her knees and eyed him accusingly, taking care to bite back the curses begging her tongue for release.

He smiled. “You learn fast.”

She wanted to slap the grin from his face and knock him off his feet.
“Help me up.”

He bent down and reached out his hand.
“Here.”

The opportunity was too inviting to resist. She clasped his fingers and yanked him toward her, but he stubbornly retained his balance.

“You want me with you?” he asked in irritating mock innocence.

She stared at him as he settled beside her, water swirling partway up his chest.
“What on earth are you doing?”