The Captured Bride

by Griep, Michelle;

  “No one in their right mind hides in a patch of barberries,” Elias huffed behind her.

  “Which is why those men won’t give this bramble a second glance.”

  A branch slapped against her neck, stinging pain cutting into the tender place just behind her earlobe. Maybe Elias was right—maybe she was so travel worn that her thinking was skewed.

  Eventually, she worked her way in to see the opposite bank, and if she turned just so, the Three Sisters came into view. Elias crashed to a stop beside her, exhaling an “Oomph.”

  Ignoring his complaint, she lifted a finger and pointed. “See that red oak over there? The one growing out of a rock?”

  “I noticed it as we passed. Why?”

  “There’s a hatchet buried five paces west of it.”

  He pulled his gaze from the water and turned to her, one brow lifting in question. “Between the Wyandot and the Mohawks?”

  She nodded. “Ten winters ago, long before this war broke out, Black-Fox-Running and Red Bear held a peace summit. This river marks the boundary that neither is to cross. They buried the war hatchet at the base of that oak as a reminder. Those warriors would be fools to cross over and bring down the wrath of my people against theirs…and you said Red Bear is no fool.”

  A smile broke, broad and brilliant. “Have I ever told you what an amazing woman you are?”

  The warmth in his voice beguiled for a moment, until she remembered what he most often called her. “No, you’re usually too busy harping on how stubborn I am.”

  “Well, I have since come to change my mind.” He reached out to pick off a skinny branch barbed into one of her sleeves. “You are going to need a new gown after all this.”

  She pointed to a tear near his collar. “And you shall need a new shirt.”

  Quick as a flash of ground lightning, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, his gaze never leaving hers.

  And God help her, she never wanted it to.

  “Mercy…” Her name was a whisper, a shiver, a need—one that plucked the same chord somewhere deep inside her chest.

  Warmth traveled low in her belly, and suddenly it didn’t matter anymore that thorns cut and men killed. That she’d sworn never to hand over her independence to anyone, least of all a blue-eyed soldier with a French name and a mind-boggling story.

  She leaned close, drawn by desire, breathing in his scent of lathered horse and heated body. When her lips met his, soft, seeking, a tremor shook through him.

  “Mercy.” This time her name was a moan.

  Heedless of scratches, she reached up and entwined her fingers in his hair, pulling him close.

  A groan rumbled in his throat, and his mouth closed in on hers, ablaze with the same hunger that burned inside her. It dazzled, this fire, scorching her in places she’d never known could simmer to such an intensity.

  But with the next breath, they broke apart, the moment doused by the splash of men’s feet running full into the river.

  Heart pounding hard enough for the warriors to hear, Elias froze. If this were his day to die, so be it, but Lord have mercy on the woman warming his side and on Livvy. Short of a miracle, they didn’t stand a chance against the ten men tearing into the water. Red painted half their faces, black the other…blood and death. And who knew how many more men were still to emerge from the woods?

  Fingering the knife at his side, he turned to Mercy and whispered, “Go. Take Livvy and ride.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Either we stand together or we die together.”

  She flung the very words he’d told her like a well-aimed tomahawk. Now? She had to choose now to heed what he’d said?

  He hardened his voice. “I am not asking. Do it.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” He growled, keeping his tone just below the sound of kicked-up water. “Think of the girl.”

  A defiant gleam burned in her gaze. Even so, she slowly, carefully parted the lowest branches and crawled out.

  Before she disappeared, he turned his attention back to the river.

  Two men took the lead, paces now from the embankment, twenty-five yards down from his cover. And only a short sprint away from Mercy and Livvy.

  God, please, see to their safety.

  He pulled out the hunting knife, gripping it in a moist palm. If he shot up now and sprinted down the river, away from Mercy, they would gain at least some small measure of time to escape. Keeping an eye on the front runners, he crouch-walked backward to clear the hindrance of the briars.

  “Cease!”

  He stopped. So did the warriors. Red Bear’s command halted the very sparrows in the trees from singing.

  The old warrior strode from the woods to the water’s edge, near the red oak with its roots gnarled around the rock. “We go no farther.”

  Paces from Elias’s side of the river, two warriors stood midstride. One turned, a bristle-haired man wearing a stiff roach headdress, and shouted back, “What of our honor?”

  Red Bear folded his arms and stared the man down. “It is for our honor we turn back.”

  “Nay!” The rebel’s voice and fist shook in the air.

  Elias shifted for a better view of the uncommon sight. To defy a sachem was asking for more than trouble.

  “We will take no life that side of the river.” Red Bear didn’t budge, in stance or deed. “Especially if the woman is Kahente.”

  “Your thinking is not clear, Red Bear.”

  A collective gasp rippled along with the river’s flowing waters. No one dared move, let alone breathe. Only the slight breeze ventured to wave the turkey feather hanging from Red Bear’s scalp lock and ruffle the hem of his long trade shirt.

  Slowly, the sachem’s face lifted, an imperial pose. The kind that brooked no argument. “Were your thoughts even a vapor when I, Red Bear, stood on this very bank, seeing with my own eyes the war ax laid into the ground?”

  The rebel said nothing. He didn’t have to. The baring of his teeth in a wicked snarl said it all.

  Red Bear tucked his black-painted chin, the whites of his eyes stark against the scarlet smear of vermillion he wore as a mask. “Are you man enough to dig it up?”

  Water churned from the rebel’s strong stride as he waded toward the sachem. He stalked past the other men yet standing in the river, all still as a nightmare and likely as incredulous as Elias. Would the fool be brazen enough to raise a fist against the leader of his people?

  Elias’s brow lowered, weighted with guilt. How many times had he done the same to God? Lifted a clenched hand? Defied the One whom he ought to obey without question?

  Oh God, forgive me for such arrogance.

  Peace settled over him like a mantle. Would that the warrior now standing in front of Red Bear received such a grace.

  The two stared eye-to-eye, ruler and ruled, man versus man. Would Red Bear abide such an atrocity if the hotheaded warrior dug up the war ax? And if he did…Sweat dotted Elias’s brow. If the sachem stood by and allowed the man to break the peace, the blood spilled would be on Elias’s hands for having allowed Mercy to lead them to this place.

  A blood-chilling cry raged from the warrior’s mouth. Then he retreated past Red Bear and strode into the woods behind him.

  The breath Elias had been holding rushed out of his lungs. The other men in the water began striding toward the retreating Red Bear—

  Save one.

  A bare-chested man broke rank, kicking up water as he raced toward Elias’s side of the shore. His feet hit the bank, scrambling on the rocks to make purchase.

  The same man who’d stolen Mercy’s hat.

  Keeping low, Elias clambered out of the barberries. Surprise was his best weapon, for if the man had a chance to cry out a warning, there’d likely be no containing the rebel who’d stood up to the sachem…or maybe not even Red Bear.

  He ran in a crouch, knife gripped tight and ready to slash. As soon as he gained sight of the man, now several yards in from the riverbank and looking for tracks, E
lias pushed air past his teeth in a loud “whist!”

  The warrior’s head jerked his way. A smile sliced across his face, white teeth sharpened to fangs. The man’s eyes narrowed to slits—then he hefted a tomahawk and reared back on the ball of one foot.

  Mercy guided the horse through woods she could traverse blind—a blessing and a curse, that. She knew the best hiding places should she and Livvy need to take cover, but she also knew the way so well that it gave her mind free rein to wander off to dark corners. If those Indians snubbed the decade-long peace between her people and theirs, tore right across that river, and discovered Elias, well…He’d proven his strength time and again, but not even he could withstand so many men set on killing. Would he end up being just one more person she couldn’t say goodbye to?

  Behind her, the thud of hooves trotted close, and Livvy drew up alongside her. It was strange to see the girl riding alone, a sharp reminder that Elias had yet to catch up to them. The girl’s blond hair frizzled in a tangle. Dirt smudged across her brow, coating everything, really. Her gown hung ripped off one shoulder, her skirts tattered at the hem. The girl had lived a lifetime over the past several months, yet a certain innocence remained in her wide blue eyes.

  “Miss Mercy?” she whispered.

  Mercy nodded, silent. While it was unlikely anyone would hear should she speak aloud, the scout in her held her tongue on a short leash.

  “God’s watching over us, ma’am.”

  The words shivered down her back as if God Himself told her His gaze was upon her. Was this girl flesh and blood? Or was she an angel sent for encouragement? Either way, human or not, Livvy was a godsend. The girl dropped back to follow as before, but Mercy pressed on with a strange peace, and all the while she prayed that God was watching over Elias too.

  Veering off on a connecting deer trace, she turned her thoughts as well, trying to forget the danger he was in, forget the passion in his kiss…and especially forget that every step of her horse drew her nearer to her village.

  The one destroyed weeks ago.

  Sorrow pressed down, as weighty as the sullen skies overhead. Part of her wanted to gallop toward home. The other part wanted to wheel about and ride fast and far. There was no escaping the implications of either one. And the more ground her horse ate up, the stronger the urge to slip down and weep hot tears onto the sacred earth of her ancestors.

  A little farther on, she pulled on her reins, halting the mare for nothing more than a gut feeling. Birds still sang in the late afternoon air, clouds yet blanketed the sky, muffling light and sound. A squirrel scampered in front of her, and her mount swished her tail. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  But even so, she turned her horse about and, with a sweep of her hand, directed Livvy to get behind her.

  Elias forced his gaze to remain on the warrior’s eyes instead of the tomahawk—one of the few things he’d actually learned from his father. Timing was more than everything now. It was his life. Drop too soon, and the man would rush him, hacking into him before he could rise. Too late, and his skull would be split from the flying ax.

  So he waited. Studying. Calculating. Anticipating that one heartbeat when an almost imperceptible narrowing of the warrior’s eyes would give away his throw. God, have mercy. It was a terrible thing to stare death in the face with nothing to rely upon except a twitch.

  And the warrior knew it. His sharp teeth gleamed white against his black-painted face, his lips pulled into a macabre smile. Then his eyes widened.

  Widened?

  The man’s jaw dropped as if the joint came unhinged—and an arrowhead pierced through the middle of his chest, shot from behind.

  Elias flattened to the ground, expecting a rain of more deadly projectiles. Had Red Bear changed his mind and even now he and his warriors were breaching the river?

  But not one whizz of fletching cut through the air. No thwunks of arrows hit tree trunks or dirt. No splashes or war cries or anything. He lifted his head, listening hard.

  The sparrows started singing.

  He rose on shaky legs and hunkered back to the barberries. Picking his way inside the prickly shrubs, he went only deep enough to spy the other side of the river.

  Not one warrior remained.

  He watched for a long time, staring and hoping, afraid to thank God and afraid not to. The last of his battle jitters shook through him in waves, and still he stared, until he was convinced the killers truly had retreated for good.

  Indeed, thank You, God.

  He emerged from the greenery and blew out a long breath, grateful for life and air and hope. Searching the ground, he spied Mercy’s trail, then began to follow it, thanking God all the more. At least there wouldn’t be any tomahawks at their backs for the rest of the journey.

  But a frown weighted his brow as he trekked along. No tomahawks, indeed, for the danger would be much closer.

  He’d be transporting a deadly poisonous weapon on his body.

  Far off in the distance, a stick cracked, and Mercy held her breath. Her horse shied sideways a step, and she narrowed her eyes, studying the greens and browns and…there. A single figure sprinted toward them, hardly more than a smear of a dirtied linen hunting frock and the bobbing of a dark-haired head. Relief sagged her shoulders. Elias. And by the looks of it, no angry warriors trailed him.

  Nudging the horse with her heels, she trotted ahead, closing the distance between them.

  He stopped as she pulled up in front of him. Dampened hair curled fierce against his temples and sweat dripped in rivulets down his forehead.

  While he caught his breath, she slid down from her mount. “They are gone?”

  “They are,” he huffed out.

  She tossed a smile over her shoulder to where Livvy landed on the ground behind her. “You were right. God is watching over us.”

  The girl’s grin beamed brilliant in the gray afternoon.

  Mercy turned back to Elias, this time searching for any sign of injury. “Are you well?”

  “Just winded.” He winced, belying his brave words. “I am getting too old for this.”

  “You sound like Matthew.” The bittersweet truth struck her hard. While she yet missed her dear friend, the man in front of her, the one who’d just risked his life once again for her sake, was already filling spaces inside her that Matthew’s friendship had never touched.

  As if her mount agreed with Elias’s words, the horse blew out a snort. Elias reached up and patted the mare’s nose. “The horses need a break as well as I. Not much day left anyway. We will camp here.”

  Her gaze drifted from trunk to trunk, rock to rock. Each one familiar. So many memories. Oh, the dreams she would have tonight should she close her eyes on this patch of land. But in some small way, this might be her best chance to say goodbye to her people, to her father…to her mother. To lay to rest all the things she’d never spoken aloud, by chance or by choice.

  “I…” She swallowed. How to say all that?

  Elias cut her a glance.

  She straightened her shoulders. The best way to fight an enemy was to run at it headlong. Had her father not taught her that well?

  “My village—the one destroyed—is not far. I will take a horse and return. There are some things…I must…let go of.” She stuttered to a halt.

  Elias stepped toward her, reaching out as if he’d pull her into his arms, but a whisper away, he stopped. Concern ran deep and blue in his eyes. For a moment, he worked his jaw, seeming to fight his own battle of words. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No.” She reached to finger the locket at her throat, the smooth stone a reminder of the strength of her mother. “But it is something I must do.”

  He nodded slowly. “All right. Then we will come along.” He turned to the girl. “Livvy, mount—”

  “I go alone,” Mercy blurted. As much comfort as his presence would bring, this was something personal, something sacrosanct…something her very being knew that only God should witness.

  He shoo
k his head. “You know that is not safe, even with those men turning back.”

  She rested her hand on his sleeve, and the muscles beneath tensed at her touch. “Please, Elias,” she whispered.

  His gaze slid from her hold to her face, softening momentarily. “Fine.” And then stern furrows lined his brow. “But if you are not back before dark, I am coming after you.”

  Elias kneaded a muscle in his neck as he watched Mercy ride off into the maze of trees and continued to stare long after she disappeared. He understood her need to slay whatever demons from her past tormented her. He’d had to slay his own a few years back when he’d first bent a knee toward God. He just didn’t like it. Not out here. Not alone. He half-hoped she’d turn around and come back.

  Feet shuffled behind him, reminding him Mercy wasn’t his only concern. He pivoted, and pale blue eyes blinked up into his.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Elias?”

  “I am well, Livvy.” He smiled down at her. “And you? This has been quite the trek. How are you faring?”

  “Well…” Her gaze lowered, and she toed the dirt. “I am rather hungry.”

  “My stomach is pinched a bit tight too.” Taking care not to strain the wound still healing on his chest, he slung off the shoulder bag carrying what remained of their provisions. “How about we remedy that?”

  He led the girl off the trail to a patch of maidenhair ferns growing amidst random boulders. He sank onto one, she onto another, and he fished out a piece of jerky for each of them.

  “Thank you.” Livvy bowed her head a moment before taking a bite.

  He tore off a chunk of his own meat, marveling. Lord, but this girl was made of strong grace. How many other young ones would not only take such hardships in stride, but remember to thank God for them as well?

  After swallowing, she lowered her piece of venison to her lap. A small frown followed the lines of a dirt smudge on her brow. “Mr. Elias?”

  “Aye?”

  “Are you going to marry Miss Mercy?”

  His mouthful of meat went down sideways, lodging as crooked in his throat as the girl’s question. He jerked a fist to his mouth and coughed into it. Very funny. Was this God’s idea of retribution for all the times as a child he’d flung awkwardly candid queries at his grandfather? Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand. “Well now, that is a big question.”