Judith E. French

by Shawnee Moon

  “My mother was Shawnee as well,” Sterling said. “I honor her memory and would never lift a hand against the Shawnee or the Delaware.”

  Moonfeather gave him a long, pensive look.

  “If they leave me and mine in peace, I’ll be a friend to them,” Sterling added. “But I will build a plantation here. I mean to keep what is mine.”

  Moonfeather handed Cailin her cup, and when she leaned forward to take it, her amulet slid from her damp bodice. Instantly, Moonfeather’s gaze became fixed on the pendant. Her eyes widened, and she drew in her breath with an audible gasp. “So,” she murmured.

  Self-consciously, Cailin clasped the necklace. Hadn’t she heard something about Indian giving? If Moonfeather liked the Eye of Mist and wanted it, what should she do? Lady Kentington had been good to them, but she didn’t want to hurt Sterling by giving away the necklace either. Quickly, she tucked the amulet back under her clothing. “Would you care for more tea, Lady Kentington?” she asked to cover her distress.

  “Where did you get that?” Moonfeather asked.

  “She’s had it since she was a child,” Sterling said. “It’s a family keepsake. Now, about this land ... I have no intention of forbidding the Shawnee to cross it, to fish and hunt here. I—”

  Moonfeather would not be distracted. “Who gave you the necklace, wife of Snow Ghost?”

  Cailin answered stiffly. “It was a gift from the man who fathered me, Cameron Stewart.”

  “So.” Moonfeather rose to her feet and smiled.

  “The circle is closed,” she said mysteriously.

  Confused, Cailin glanced at Sterling. He seemed as bewildered by his guest’s remark as she was.

  “Come to the village and talk with the elders, Sterling Gray,” Moonfeather said. “There will be a high council meeting on the night of the next full moon. You should hear what has happened between Shawnee and the whites in the years since you left.” She looked directly into Cailin’s face. “If you are ever in need, come to me, Cailin Gray. Two days’ walk along the river. This woman would be your sister.”

  The two braves leaped up.

  “There’s no need for you to go,” Sterling said. “We can talk—”

  Moonfeather suddenly grasped his hands and stepped close to him. “Heed my words. War between the English and the French is coming to this land. This woman fears that the rivers will run red with blood.”

  “If war does come, will the Shawnee stand with the English or the French?” Sterling asked.

  Moonfeather shrugged. “When hawk and eagle clash, small birds scatter.”

  “You must choose between them. The French only want furs and to convert the tribes to Christianity. The English colonists have come to stay. They’ve sunk roots here. They won’t be driven out,” Sterling replied. “The French can’t win. If the Shawnee choose the wrong side—”

  “Some of my people fear the English settlers more than the soldiers,” Moonfeather replied. “The soldier comes with cannon and shot, but the farmer sinks deep roots in the earth.”

  “We can learn to live together—English and Indian,” Sterling argued. “You’ve spent your life making peace. You must believe in the possibility.”

  Moonfeather sighed. “To make a lasting peace, both sides must agree. So long as the Indian claims land that the Englishmanake wants, there can be no end to the fighting.”

  “You can’t put all the blame on the whites, Moonfeather. Your greatest enemies, the Iroquois nation, were here long before the first European set foot in America.”

  “My enemies?” She shook her head. “You believe in your heart that you are English, Sterling Gray, but your mother carried you under her breast. She gave you life. It is her heritage that runs strongest in you. You cannot turn your face from your Shawnee brothers and sisters.”

  “I’m not ashamed of my Indian heritage.”

  “Then I have wronged you,” she said. “You are a good man, and I would offer you no insult.”

  Sterling’s face flushed beneath his tan. “The English and the Shawnee don’t have to be at each other’s throats,” he said. “There’s land enough here for us all.”

  “Aye,” she answered. “So my husband and father believe. But when this one looks into the sacred fire, she sees the flames of war and hears the footsteps of a passing people.” She released his hands. “I sense a change in you, Sterling Gray,” she said quietly. “Something has happened.”

  He didn’t answer. Cailin glanced from one to the other. Moonfeather’s warning had been ominous, but now ... A chill passed over Cailin.

  The peace woman’s eyes darkened to pools of liquid obsidian, and when she spoke again, it was in the Indian tongue. “Na-nata Ki-tehi,” she whispered.

  There was more, but uttered so softly that Cailin could hardly hear her, let alone comprehend.

  “Are you sure?” Sterling asked.

  “Aye,” Moonfeather said, switching back to English. The fey look left her face, and she smiled. “Come to the village,” she said. Then she turned and walked toward the river, followed by her men. After a few steps, she stopped and glanced back. “Thank you for the tea, and do not forget to bring your wife with you when you come to the council fire. There is much that I would know of her.”

  “What did she say to you?” Cailin asked as the braves guided the canoe into deep water and began to paddle upriver against the current. Moonfeather turned to wave, and Cailin waved back. “What a strange woman,” she murmured.

  “Trust her,” Sterling said. “No matter what comes, remember that you can trust her. She is a great lady and the wisest woman I’ve ever known.”

  “What did she say to you?” Cailin repeated. “Just before she left—when she spoke in Indian.”

  He gave a small sound of disbelief. “It makes no sense at all.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “She told me that my Shawnee name is no longer Ko-nah Ain-jeleh—Snow Ghost. My new name is Na-nata Ki-hehi-Warrior Heart.”

  Cailin chuckled. “She can change people’s names, can she?”

  “She is a peace woman. There’s no English equivalent, but she’s a spiritual and political leader, not just of one tribe, but of the whole Shawnee nation. A peace woman is born, not appointed, and there’s never more than one in a generation. She can damned well give me a name if she decides to.”

  “She’s that powerful?”

  He nodded. “She could have a royal governor killed with a flick of her hand. She could declare war or end it. It’s an Indian thing. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You take this seriously, don’t ye?”

  His mouth tightened to a thin slash.

  “’Tis odd, certain,” she said, “but I’d like to try and understand. She called ye Ko-nah at first. Who gave you the name Sterling? Your mother?”

  “No. My father called me Sterling, after his grandfather. Snow Ghost was my child name. I should have been given a new one when I received a vision and completed my initiation into manhood.”

  “And for some reason, ye didna.”

  “No. My initiation was ... somewhat irregular. Usually, a boy has a vision of the animal that will become his spirit guide—his protector. My naming was postponed. Then my mother died, and my father took me to England.”

  “And today, Lady Kentington—Moonfeather—has decided to give ye a new name.”

  “Crazy, isn’t it? A man’s name is never given to a warrior who doesn’t have a proper spirit guide.” He grimaced. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.” Sterling draped an arm around her shoulders. “What say we light that fire and start moving our furniture inside? We’ll sleep under our own roof tonight.”

  “Will you go to the Shawnee village?”

  His mood became somber again. “We’ll have to. There’s an old war trail that crosses our land. If trouble comes, I’m afraid we’ll be in the thick of it. I can’t really spare the time now, but as soon as our first crop is in and the stable is finished ... yes, I�
��ll ride west to the village and hear what the council has to say.”

  “She said on the next full moon.”

  “There’s been talk of all-out war between the Indians and the English since before I was born. If the news is good, it won’t hurt to wait to hear it.”

  “And if it’s bad?” Cailin asked.

  “We’ll learn the truth of that soon enough.”

  Chapter 14

  Moonfeather’s visit troubled Cailin so that she took only a little pleasure in the lighting of the first fire in the cabin and in moving the furniture into place. Supper was roast venison and trout, supplemented with fresh greens, oatcakes, and applesauce made from dried apples packed in from Annapolis.

  Sterling and Cailin sat together at the table enjoying a late cup of tea after Isaac and the others had climbed the ladder to the loft to sleep. Sterling filled a long-stemmed pipe with Maryland-grown tobacco and puffed at it thoughtfully.

  “Why don’t the Shawnee want you to build a plantation here?” she asked him, voicing the question that had bothered her all afternoon.

  “We’re on the edge of prime hunting ground. If I build here, they’re afraid other settlers will come and push them off their lands.”

  “Will they?”

  He watched the smoke curl upward from the bowl of his pipe. “Yes.”

  “Then we’re hurting the Indians by what we’re doing.”

  “There’s no stopping settlement, Cailin. This summer or next, cabins will start springing up along the river. If we’re not here to establish our claim, squatters will try to move in on my land. Cheap acreage is hard to find along the bay. They keep coming from England, Ireland, and Scotland. Most are poor men determined to cultivate a plot of their own—they’ve made great sacrifices to come to the Colonies, and they won’t be denied land.”

  “But the Shawnee will blame you along with the others—even though you have a legal deed?”

  “Yes, they will. They don’t look at land ownership the way we do. They think the earth belongs to God. Men and women just have the use of it,”

  “Will they go on the warpath?”

  “I hope not.” He laid down his pipe. “I doubt it. Moonfeather will talk hard for peace. But still ... there’s a thing I need for you to see.” He motioned her to come to the fireplace. “Just listen to me. Don’t argue. What I have to show you may save your life someday.”

  Puzzled, she followed him to the hearth.

  “The stone is warm. Don’t burn yourself,” he cautioned. “Look up the chimney and to the left.”

  She did as he instructed and saw what looked like narrow steps of rock jutting out of the back corner of the fireplace. “I still don’t—”

  “Higher.”

  Shoulder high, too high for anyone standing in the great room to see, was a ledge set into the side of the chimney. “It’s a priest’s hole,” she said. “What in God’s name—”

  “It’s for you,” he said. “You and our children. There’s room for you to hide. We purposely made the chimney wide enough to hold a hidden compartment. If the fire’s burning when you need to climb up, it will get warm enough, but you shouldn’t be hurt. Don’t tell a soul about it. No one knows about this but Isaac and me.”

  She ignored the part about the children. Having a baby was the last thing she wanted now. A babe would tie her to Sterling forever. And she couldn’t give him forever ... no matter how she might want it. “Why would I want to hide in a fireplace?”

  “Keep your voice down. Remember, there’s only a single layer of floorboards above us. Someone could be awake in the loft. The hiding hole’s useless if anyone else learns the secret.”

  “Who am I supposed to hide from?”

  “It’s insurance, in case the plantation is ever attacked.”

  “You think the Shawnee are going to attack us?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think that. I wouldn’t have brought you out here if I didn’t believe my mother’s Indian blood would protect us from the Delaware and the Shawnee. But there are always men outside the law. White or red, they’re no different from raiders in Scotland. Forrest warned me that deserters from the military burned a farm on the Eastern Shore. They murdered a man and his wife and stole the livestock and the slaves. We’re isolated here. We don’t have to worry about pirates like the plantations on the bay. But there aren’t any neighbors to call on for help. I want you to have a way to survive if anything bad happens.”

  “And you? Will ye be hiding there too?”

  His jawline tightened. “If I’m here, I’ll be fighting or dead. But if there is trouble, I could be off hunting or cutting trees. I won’t always be within earshot.” He pulled her back away from the flames. “I’m not trying to frighten you,” he said gruffly. “But I’ve seen too much violence to—”

  “As if I have not seen my share?” She thought a moment. “I’ll want a big dog for protection.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I’ve already put in a bid for two of Forrest’s mastiff pups once they’re weaned. You never said, but I had hoped you liked dogs.”

  “Aye, I favor them. We had a sheepdog at home that was as smart as most men. I sent him with Corey.” For an instant, the child’s tearstained face formed in her mind. She pushed it away and looked back at Sterling. His expression was grim.

  “I should have warned you what you were coming to. If you’re afraid to stay here—”

  “Mary and Joseph!” she exclaimed. “Wolves walk into our camp. Indians pop up out of nowhere and tell us that the river is going to turn to blood. Then ye show me this hole in the chimney and tell me to hide when the beasties come. How could a sensible woman not be afraid—will ye tell me that?”

  Clouds swirled in the depths of his dark eyes. “Do you want to go back to the bay country—to Annapolis? I’ll not put your life in danger unless you—”

  “Nay.” She gripped the warm, solid flesh of his hand, marveling at the thrill that passed through her. What was there about this Sassenach that made her forget common sense and loyalty to her family and country? A body would think he was the only man alive, she scoffed to herself.

  “I want you here, Cailin,” he admitted, “but—”

  “No more of that,” she said, fighting the desire to stroke his clean-shaved cheek. Sterling needed to shave only twice a week, but he never let stubble show on his face. She liked that.

  She stepped closer and put her arms around his neck. “After all the rocks I’ve carried for ye ... after all the work we’ve put into this house, do ye think I’ll cut and run?” she asked him huskily. “Two years I’ve promised ye, and two years you’ll have. I’m no coward, I vow.”

  “I never thought you were.” He sat down in the chair and pulled her into his lap. “I love you.” He leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the mouth. “I want to keep you safe,” he added after the next kiss. He rubbed the back of her neck with strong fingers ... slow, provocative motions that made her go all giddy inside.

  “Sterling. We shouldn’t,” she whispered, struggling only a little. The heat of his callused palm felt marvelous on her sore muscles, and she didn’t want him to stop. “One of the laborers might come down to ...”

  He brushed her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and even her token protests ceased. She put her arms around his neck and parted her lips eagerly when he kissed her again. His tongue touched hers, and she gasped at the sensation.

  It was suddenly hard to breathe.

  She clung to him, letting him fill her mouth with his tongue, taking sensual pleasure in the taste and scent of him. And with each kiss, she forgot more and more of where they were and that they might be interrupted by one of the workmen coming downstairs to answer a call of nature.

  He slipped a seeking hand under her petticoats and caressed her thigh above her stocking. She sighed and then pulled loose the leather thong that tied his queue in place as he nestled his face in her bosom. She loved to touch his hair. “Ye should have been born a lass, wi
th such lovely hair,” she teased. The strands slipped through her fingers, as soft as black velvet.

  “I think not,” he said. “We’d make an odd pair.”

  She laughed. “I didna mean that ye were womanly, although ye do have nice legs. I’d like to see ye in a kilt.”

  “I wore a loincloth until I was fourteen,” he said. “That’s as close as I intend to get to wearing a skirt.”

  “A plaid is hardly a skirt,” she admonished him.

  “You’re not drawing me into a battle tonight,” he said, raising his head and kissing the tip of her nose.

  “You’re insatiable,” she replied, but she couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice. And she couldn’t keep her pulse from racing. Cuddled against him, she felt as giddy as a new bride.

  “I admit it,” he said with a devilish wink. “I can’t get enough of you. When I saw you washing your hair in the river today, I wanted to strip off my clothes and join you.” He nibbled on her earlobe. “Mmm,” he murmured. “It’s not too late to go for that swim.”

  “Swimming? In the dark—with wolves and wild Indians?” She pursed her lips. “You’re mad—even for an Englishman.”

  He laughed again, a deep rumbling sound of contentment that made her heart leap. He kissed her throat, then began to undo the lacing on her bodice. “Why must you women wrap yourselves in such a tangle of clothing? It’s enough to drive a man out of his mind.”

  Above, in the laborers’ bedchamber, a board creaked, and someone coughed.

  Cailin stiffened and glanced up. “Sterling, someone’s awake.”

  “They’re sound asleep.”

  “If they should come down, what would they think?”

  “They won’t come down.”

  “But ...”

  “Shhh.” He sighed as he covered her hand with his. “See what you’ve done to me?” He pressed her fingers against his straining garment. His shaft throbbed hot against her flesh.

  “Lecher,” she accused. But the tremor in her voice betrayed her own desire. “Be that all ye think of?”

  “No ... not all.” He whispered a scandalous suggestion into her ear, and her eyes widened with astonishment.