Still nursing his bruised pride, Hargrave walked slowly toward Alice’s door. What could she possibly want with him? Everyone in the fort was whispering this morning about how Gunn had carried her off to his cabin and kept her there for most of the night, not returning her until long after dark. Obviously, Lady Alice had made up her mind what she meant to do, and just as obviously, Christopher Gunn, in his usual forceful manner, had helped her decision along. No doubt she was packing to move in with Gunn permanently.
Captain Hargrave steeled himself for the worst possible news as he knocked on Alice’s door.
“Oh, Jon, do come in,” she invited with a sweet smile. “I’ve had Peg make tea for us. It’s such a chilly morning.” She gripped her arms and gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’ll simply never survive the Maine winter, I’m sure.”
Hargrave said little beyond “good morning” as he entered the room. He was too busy observing Alice to make idle conversation. Her face looked cheery enough, but there was a strange expression in her bright blue eyes. She kept darting glances here and there, as if she expected to find someone at the window or in a corner spying on the two of them. Or perhaps she was merely unsettled by being alone with another man, after having been alone with Gunn so recently. Hargrave’s anger flared at the thought. What had the brute done to her?
“Shall I leave the door open, Lady Alice, since your girl is not here?”
“Don’t be silly, Jon. It’s far too cold outside. Besides, who worries about conventions in this place?”
Her answer distressed him further. All the while that she was on board his ship, she had been consumed with concern for conventions. Why, suddenly, did such things no longer matter to her?
They sat down. Alice poured tea from one of the silver pots she’d brought from England, then they sipped from delicate china cups. The silence between them stretched on and on.
At last Hargrave cleared his throat to regain her attention. Alice was staring out the window, her mind seemingly a million miles away. “I want to thank you for saving my life yesterday, Lady Alice.”
Seeming to force herself, Alice reached across the table and touched his hand, then quickly drew her fingers away. “Please, Jon, there’s no need for such formality. It’s simply Alice to you. Think of all we’ve been through together.” Again she smiled too brightly.
Hargrave scowled. Not as much as you and Gunn have been through together, I’ll wager, he thought.
“Fine, Alice, if that’s the way you wish it.” His voice sounded even more formal than when he’d used her title.
“You’re not making this easy for me, Jon,” she said softly, shying away from his direct gaze.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“On the ship you said you were fond of me. You fairly turned my head with your kind words and promises. But now your feelings have changed, it seems. I’d hoped that we—”
Hargrave reached out and gripped both her hands in his. “Alice, are you saying that you might reconsider my offer? Can it possibly be true? Why, I’d move heaven and earth to make you my bride.”
Hargrave’s enthusiasm threw Alice off guard. No matter her resolve, she refused to be rushed into anything. She must take it slowly, be sure that she could actually follow through before she made any hasty promises.
Withdrawing from him, she smiled shyly, avoiding direct eye contact. “I was going to say, Jon, that I had hoped you and I could become close friends. As I told you earlier, William Phips has invited me to Boston. I’ll need help getting down there. I’d thought you might accompany me. I don’t believe Pegeen will be coming, because she and the blacksmith plan to wed. So, you see, I’ll be totally alone.”
“Never,” the captain whispered. “Alice, my dear, you will never be alone again. You can always count on me.”
She glanced up at him through her dark golden lashes. He looked as eager to please as a puppy welcoming a new master, anticipating any and all commands. A shiver ran through her and she closed her eyes. She didn’t want a man she could control so easily. She wanted a man who could stand up to her—a man who could be forceful as well as gentle by turns. Why did Jonathan Hargrave sit before her, hanging on her every word, begging for her smallest crumb? Alice wondered.
She had imagined this meeting so differently. She had planned to open the conversation, but then she’d expected him to take over. She thought he was supposed to say something like, “Fine, then, Alice. I see your predicament and I’ll take care of it. What you need, young woman, is a husband. I’ve told you that before, and after everything that’s happened recently, you should believe me now. I’ll attend to all that must be done. Before you have time to think, you’ll be Mrs. Jonathan Hargrave. I mean to take care of you, Alice, and I mean to love you as you’ve never been loved before.”
At that point Alice had visualized a strong captain sweeping her off her feet and into his arms for a kiss that would live in her heart forever—a kiss that would wipe away all memory of Christopher Gunn’s embraces.
But it didn’t happen. Alice opened her eyes to find Hargrave standing at the door.
“You seem tired this morning, Alice. I’ll leave you to rest now. Let me know when you plan to start for Boston. I am completely at your disposal. Again, dear lady, I thank you for my life.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. Alice buried her face in her crossed arms on the table. Inside she was sobbing with frustration, but her eyes remained dry.
“Damn the man!” she cried. “Why can’t he be as masterful with a woman as he is with a ship? Why can’t he be more like Christopher Gunn?”
Gunn knew before he approached his cabin that something was wrong. No smoke rose from the chimney. The nearby snow that had fallen during the night was not virgin-white, but was churned and scarred by hoofprints. The door stood slightly ajar. Someone had paid a call while he was away.
Bounding off his great black horse, he raced inside to find the place a shambles.
“Ishani,” he called. “Ishani?”
He knew it was useless. She was gone. Jerking aside the curtain that hid the bed, he spied a piece of birch bark amidst the tumbled covers. He snatched it up, staring at the scribbled symbol of farewell followed by a crude picture of a white dove, Ishani’s signature.
Gunn sank to the bed, stunned. For days he had worried over how he would convince Ishani that she must return to her people. He had planned to reason with her, to plead, if necessary. He knew how she dreaded the thought of becoming Scarappi’s bride. He’d even thought of going to the Frenchman about their marriage. Now she had taken the problem out of his hands, making the decision herself. He should have felt relieved, but something was wrong here. He glanced about.
“Scarappi,” he muttered.
The same warrior who had almost kidnapped Alice had now taken Ishani. Scarappi was to be feared, not only for his ruthlessness, but because he was the son of a chieftain, a great sagamore of the Anasagunticook nation that lived in the valley of the Androscoggin River. These people were noted for their fierce hatred of the English and so were close allies of Baron de Saint Castin.
He glanced about the wreckage of the bedroom, then frowned down at Ishani’s farewell scratched into the soft bark. It seemed to indicate that she had left of her own free will, but the destruction all about painted a far different picture. What the hell had happened?
Gunn spent some time examining the clues. The truth seemed to him that even as he had been making plans to take her home, Ishani had finally made up her own mind to go back to her people. Then, while she awaited dawn to begin her long trek, Scarappi had come for her. The black lightning bolts torched on his walls were Gunn’s final proof. Scarappi had come here, bent on revenge. Their violent meeting at the fort had spurred the fierce warrior to action.
There was no need for Gunn to search for Ishani. He knew he’d never find the wily Scarappi’s camp. However, Gunn felt the need to protect Ishani. He wo
uld not see her punished for her childish rebellion. He must make it clear to her people that nothing had happened between them and that she had decided to return on her own, even before Scarappi came for her.
His mind made up, he slammed out the door and climbed back on his horse. He would have to find the one man who could force the tribe to listen to reason—Baron Jean Vincent de l’Abadie de Saint Castin. He must make the Frenchman understand and ensure Ishani’s safety by smoking the hemlock pipe.
Three days went by with no sign of Gunn. Alice hadn’t really expected him to come rushing back with open arms, but she had thought he would put in an appearance, probably bringing Ishani along simply to enrage Alice further.
Jon Hargrave called every morning at precisely eleven to see if Alice had decided yet to set out for Boston. He was polite and supremely patient with her, which only enraged Alice further. She hated to wait any longer, fearing she was only waiting for winter. She almost wished Hargrave could make her leave, just to have the decision taken out of her hands. Then she would have to forget about Gunn and get on with her life.
One especially chilly morning a knock came at Alice’s door a little earlier than usual. She was still in bed, bundled in fur robes against the biting cold.
“Tell the captain I’m not feeling well this morning, Peg,” Alice said.
Pegeen opened the door, then turned to her mistress. “It’s not the captain, Lady Alice. It’s Sir William Phips, and he says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”
Alice leaped out of bed and pulled on her robe, then covered that with a heavy black bearskin. “All right, show him in.”
Alice was troubled. Though she and Sir William had talked on several occasions of the possibility of her going to Boston, she had no idea what he could want with her at this early hour—unless it had something to do with Gunn, perhaps. An all-consuming fear gripped Alice. What if something terrible had happened to Gunn?
“Lady Alice, I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” Phips began, “but I’ve been giving this a good deal of thought, and there’s not much time left, so I felt I had to speak with you right away about this matter.”
He seemed to be rambling. Alice wanted to know immediately if her fears were grounded. “Sir William, does this have anything to do with Christopher Gunn?”
One dark brow cocked upward. “Why, yes, but how did you know?”
Her heart sank. “I didn’t know,” she answered. “But I was afraid something might have happened to him. How bad is the news? You can be blunt with me.”
Phips shrugged. “I’ve had no word from him since he last rode out. I’d give my right arm to know where the devil he is.” He glanced at Alice and offered her a smile of apology. “Pardon me, ma’am, but the man can be infuriating at times.”
Alice nodded. “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m afraid I can’t help you, Sir William. I haven’t the slightest notion where he might be.”
“I didn’t figure you’d know. That’s not exactly why I’m here.”
Phips began telling Alice about his invitation to Gunn, arousing her interest immediately. “I need Gunn’s help with my new shipping venture in Boston. You are still planning to come with us, aren’t you? As I told you earlier, you’ll find my wife good company while Gunn and I tend to business.”
“Of course I still mean to go to Boston,” Alice replied. “What made you think I might have changed my mind?”
Phips looked embarrassed. “Well, you’ve been seeing a lot of Captain Hargrave lately. I thought perhaps you and he had an understanding of sorts and that was why Gunn rode off without a word to anyone.”
“No, Sir William. Our only understanding is that the captain will accompany me to Boston. You did say I would need a driver.”
Will frowned. “Hargrave’s coming? Gunn won’t like that when he hears about it. The two men can’t abide each other.”
“How is Gunn going to hear when we don’t even know where he is? I don’t think he ever intended to make this trip to Boston.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re mistaken, Lady Alice. Actually, Gunn told me that he’d be more than willing to go to Boston if you were along.”
Alice felt her pulses racing. “He actually wants me along?”
“He certainly does, Lady Alice. I think the man is smitten at last.”
Alice smiled at his words, then glanced outside at the gray sky that threatened snow. She shivered in spite of her heavy robes. “Sir William, I can hardly wait to get started. The longer I’m in this place, the more I yearn for civilization and the companionship of other women. Meeting Lady Mary, I’m sure, will be a delight.”
He nodded and offered her a small bow. “I’m glad you’ll be with us. We’ll leave in two days for Boston. It’s a day’s ride down the coast to where my ship is anchored. I only hope Gunn decides to show himself before it’s time to sail. But, regardless, we can’t wait any longer.”
Phips left shortly after that, and Alice set about sorting and packing. For the first time in days she felt lighthearted. She’d known all along that things would work out. Maybe it was simply a matter of holding out for what she wanted. She certainly knew what that was—she wanted Christopher Gunn. In Boston things would be better for them. After all, civilization demanded civilized behavior, which was something Gunn seemed to have discarded here in this savage land.
Gunn had no trouble finding Baron de Saint Castin. The Abenaki were on their way inland for the winter, where they would spend the cold months hunting and trapping until spring lured them back to the shore. Following the Penobscot River, he spotted signs all along the way that showed their passing. On the second day, he found their village.
No one paid much attention as Gunn rode into camp. They all knew him—most even liked him. He was considered by the Abenaki a notch above the other wautoconoag, as they called the Englishmen because of their strange clothes. The Indians respected him not only because of his close relationship with the baron, but also for his great abilities as a hunter and a fighter. They saw him almost as an equal.
Gunn spied an old shaman he knew and rode toward him. They exchanged casual nods. The Indian continued silently puffing his clay pipe.
“Where is the Frenchman?” Gunn asked in the old man’s own language.
“Sweating,” the shaman replied, shrugging one shoulder toward a small round lodge set apart from the others. “He knew of your coming. He awaits you.”
Already loosening his clothing, Gunn turned his mount toward the sweat cell. A handsome young woman waited at the entrance to take his horse’s reins.
She smiled at him, then lowered her eyes. “Gunn is much we’come here.” She spoke fair English for an Abenaki maid.
She said no more, but Gunn knew she would be his for the taking after his meeting with the baron. Such was the time-honored custom when guests visited an Abenaki camp.
The girl stood by, her dark eyes cast down, as Gunn quickly shed his clothes. He shivered slightly as the cold wind swirled over his naked body, but a moment later he was inside the steaming hot lodge.
He sank to the ground across the pit of rocks from the big Frenchman, who seemed not to notice his arrival, but continued ladling water over the bed of heated stones. Soon the last chilblain disappeared from Gunn’s body and sweat began to drench his bare flesh, trickling down through the thick mat of red hair on his chest.
“A long ride in such weather,” Castin began. “Your mission must be of some importance, Gunn.”
“Jean Vincent, let’s not play games. Blood brothers should speak plainly to each other. I’m here about Ishani.”
The baron was not as tall a man as Gunn, yet he seemed to loom larger than life in the small space. Without clothes to distinguish him, Castin might have been taken for an Abenaki chief instead of a titled French officer born and raised in the foothills of the Pyrenees. He wore his dark hair in a scalp lock on one side. His skin was a deep bronze, and his body was powerfully mu
scled. Women, Gunn knew, thought him beautiful, and the Indians considered him a god. Considering Castin’s reputation in France, Canada, and among the Abenaki nation as a charmer, Gunn had to believe what was said of him. It was rumored that the black-eyed Frenchman had married three times already and had fathered countless children in and out of wedlock. Soon he would take a new bride, Ishani’s sister, the beautiful daughter of the Tarratine sagamore, Madockawando. If he did that, then his control over the Abenaki would be absolute.
“Ishani is where she belongs. Scarappi brought her back to her father’s lodge.”
Gunn nodded his solemn agreement. “I meant to bring her back to her people myself.”
The Frenchman made a sound that indicated his disbelief. “You damn British! You think you can take whatever you please. How would you feel if Scarappi had ridden off with your golden-haired woman? At least she fought him. Ishani disgraced herself by running to you. She shamed Scarappi and all of her race. Now he will have to punish her before they can be married.”
“No!” Gunn rose to his full, towering height, cracking his head on one of the birch poles that supported the roof.
“No, you say? And why not? A man has a right to control his woman.”
Gunn stood over the Frenchman, his glaring features all but lost in the rising steam. “She’s not a woman—she’s only a child. You listen to me! These people will do as you say, and I’ve come here to tell you that I don’t want Ishani punished. Do you understand me?”
The baron laughed loud and long, then his dark eyes turned fierce and he said with deadly calm, “Sit down, you hot-blooded Scottish fool! You’ll have the whole camp bursting in here with your angry shouts and threats. Listen to me and listen well. You knew what you were doing when you let Ishani stay. What did you expect—that once you grew tired of having her around she would be welcomed back with open arms by the man she was to marry? Damn you, Gunn, she was a virgin! If you wanted an Indian woman to warm your bed, why didn’t you come here and lure away someone’s wife? Wasn’t that your main occupation back in England? That wouldn’t have been half as bad in this case. No, Ishani must be punished as tradition dictates. And I hope, damn you, that you share her pain in your worst nightmares.”
Silver Tears Page 9