His Wild Heart

by Colleen French

  Hunter's face seemed to darken. He turned and strode away.

  "Don't turn away from me when I'm speaking!" Alexandra ran after him. "Did anyone ever tell you how rude that is?" She grabbed his arm. He flinched.

  "Let it go," Jon warned softly. "Just let it go, Alexandra."

  "Who are you looking for?" she repeated, ignoring Jon. "If I'm being forced to be a part of this, I at least have the right to know why."

  Hunter shook his head, looking away. "It doesn't matter."

  She laughed, but there was no humor in the tone of her voice. She still had her arm on the sleeve of his tunic. Beneath the soft, supple leather she could feel his biceps tighten. His reaction to her words was so strong that she almost backed down. Almost. "Why have I been dragged into this? I demand to know who's so important!"

  Hunter turned to face her, his piercing hazel eyes boring down on her. "The man who murdered my wife and unborn child," he whispered.

  Alexandra released his sleeve, mortified by her own behavior. Hunter strode away. "Going scouting," he said as he passed Jon. "Take the mule and keep heading west."

  "I'm sorry," Alexandra murmured beneath her breath as tears clouded her dark eyes. The pain in Hunter's eyes had been so strong at that moment, so real, that her own heart ached for his loss. "Heavenly Father, I'm so sorry, Hunter—"

  But he was already too far away to hear her.

  Two Crows struggled against the strength of the two English soldiers who half carried, half dragged him into the room. The entire left side of his face ached from the beating the men had given him in the fort prison. One eye was swollen shut, his nose broken, his cheek slashed and his lower lip split.

  One soldier released him and the other gave him a vicious shove. Two Crows hit the dirt floor tucking his arms and legs up as best he could considering the fact that they were tied. His head hit the log and mud wall and for a moment he lay still, catching his breath. Then he rolled onto his side and glowered at the uniformed soldiers.

  "Now don't go anywhere," the taller of the two soldiers warned.

  A woman's scream echoed somewhere in the fort.

  The solder smiled to his companion. "The captain wants to see you, just as soon as he's done, redskin."

  He left the room and a few moments later returned on the heels of Captain John Cain. The captain was impeccably dressed in a red uniform, the breast of his pressed coat lined with medals of commendation. The only thing that seemed slightly out of place was his flushed face and the dots of perspiration above his upper lip.

  Two Crows watched from the floor as the captain strode by. Two Crows could smell the leather of his shiny black boots and the smoke of his tobacco. But there was another smell that enveloped him. One more subtle. Was it madness?

  "Dismissed," Cain ordered with a flip of his hand. He was a small man, but well built with bulky shoulders and obvious strength.

  "You certain you want to be left alone with the red bastard?" the taller soldier said.

  "I said you're dismissed, Mitchell. He gives me any trouble and I'll shoot him between his eyes." He turned to smile at Two Crows. "Fair agreement, wouldn't you say?"

  Two Crows made no response.

  Cain nodded. "There we have it." He looked back to his men. "Dismissed, I said. I'll call you when I'm ready for you to come back for him." As if on second thought, he then said, "Why not clean up the room down the hall? You know which one I mean. Take the woman back to her cell."

  "Yes, sir," the soldiers echoed. They made a hasty retreat back through the door the captain had entered by. Back in the direction of the woman's screams.

  Cain walked across the sparsely furnished room and propped one booted foot on a camp stool. He gazed out a tiny window as he reached for his pipe tucked inside his shirtwaist.

  Two Crows eyed him uneasily. This cap-i-tan was a madman. He could smell it on his breath. Two Crows had been a fool to let the soldiers take him alive. He should have died a warrior's death. It was what his father would have done. But he wasn't his father, was he? He would never be the man his father was. It was his mother's white blood that tainted him.

  Cain tapped a little tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and turned his gaze on Two Crows. "So, I understand there's been a little trouble with our trade agreement."

  Two Crows stiffened his back. "The redbeard stole her."

  "One trapper, and what, five or six of you? Surely you could have overtaken even the fiercest of men."

  "There were two of them."

  "Two, five—" his voice rose in volume until he was shouting. "Ten! It makes no difference. You and I had an agreement."

  "I'll get you another woman. Two."

  "I wanted the white woman. I tire of the red bitches. They never scream loud enough. They never beg." He glanced out the window. "I can never get them to beg," he murmured.

  "Then white women. I will give two for the loss of the first."

  Cain shook his head. "No good. I want that woman. My man said she was uncommonly handsome. She'll bring a good price further north. The Mohawks love white women, don't they? That's why he purchased her. Alexandra, was that her name?" He poked his pipe between his teeth. "Alexandra. That's who I want." He turned to glare at Two Crows. "That's who I'll have . . ."

  Two Crows nodded his head. "Yes. The Alexandra woman. I'll find her." At this point he would promise anything to gain a chance at freedom. "Bring her to you."

  "How will you find her?"

  "She travels with a white man. A man who calls himself the Hunter of the Shawnee."

  Cain turned, his interest suddenly tapped. "Hunter of the Shawnee you say? The name is familiar."

  For the first time Two Crows realized the captain had one blue eye and one green eye. An evil omen. "You know this redbeard?"

  "I know of him."

  Two Crows nodded. "I will track him and take the girl. I will bring her to you."

  Cain smiled to himself as he turned back to stare out the window. "I know you will, redskin. Else you'll come to regret the day your whore white mother ever whelped you . . ."

  Chapter Five

  Alexandra studied Jon carefully. "The truth?"

  He lifted his right hand. "The honest God's truth."

  She turned her gaze toward the small campfire. Darkness was closing in quickly and still Hunter hadn't returned. Jon said he often scouted ahead and that he would find them, but she was concerned. After all, wasn't it her fault he'd walked off like that? She was the one who had pried into his personal life. She was the one who had made him tell her his wife and baby were dead.

  She looked back at Jon who was stretched out in front of the fire, one hand tucked behind his head. Alexandra's own plight was forgotten for the moment. All she could think of was Hunter and the unfairness of life. "But how could his wife's family have accused him of such a horrendous crime? The man is certainly not filled with social graces, but he's not a murderer. I've only known him two days and I could tell you that much."

  Jon shrugged. "They found him with the knife in his hand. He was covered in her blood. Circumstantial evidence. They needed a killer, someone to blame. In their minds he was the most logical person to accuse."

  "But he loved her." Alexandra picked up a stick and poked at the fire in contemplation. "You said he had agreed to remain among the Indians just to have her as his wife. You said he was willing to give up a title and lands in England to have her. Why would he kill a woman he loved that much?"

  "Her family accused him of being angry that she was pregnant. They said he killed her because the rich white man wanted no half-breed child."

  The mention of Hunter being rich didn't go unnoticed, but that didn't matter to Alexandra right now. "Where were you when all this took place? You're one of them. Surely the Indians would have listened to you."

  "I was in a card game in Annapolis when Laughing Rain was murdered. Hunter and I were supposed to meet at a tavern the following week. I didn't see him for nearly six months. Besides, they're De
laware, I'm Shawnee. We're related but not one and the same. And then,"—he slapped the leather shirtwaist he wore—"I'm not much of a Shawnee, not with my white man's ways."

  She shook her head. "What a tragedy. Hunter must be a remarkable man to be able to withstand it all. A lesser man would have committed suicide or just run from his pain. I think it's admirable that he's trying to catch his wife's killer."

  Jon cracked a charming smile. "Don't tell me you're smitten with that grouchy old bear. I warn you. He's too wild for your delicate nature. He'll offer nothing but heartache." He reached out and took her hand. "Better to lay your coppers with me." He winked. "I'm a hell of a man! Give me a chance and I'll prove it to you, Alexandra. I vow I will!"

  She snatched her hand from his, but she wasn't offended. Actually, she was just a little flattered. Even though she knew Jon was one of those ladies' men that couldn't be trusted any further than a woman could toss him, he was harmless . . . as long as you didn't get involved with him. "I told you. I'm not interested. Not in you and certainly not in Hunter. My aunt has a fine match for me back in Annapolis. A wealthy man. A gentleman."

  "Hunter's wealthy and I'm a gentleman. Combined, doesn't that count for something?"

  Alexandra tossed a stick. It glanced off his shoulder and fell into the campfire. "Very amusing. Now tell me, why didn't you wed one of these beautiful Indian maidens like Hunter did?" It was odd, but she felt a twinge of jealousy as she spoke.

  Jon grimaced and turned his attention back to the fire. "I'm not cut out for colonial life and certainly not cut out for Indian camp life. I'm not like Hunter. My life is at the theater, at the gaming tables, in Whitehall if I could find my way in. My home is in London and just as soon as Hunter finds Laughing Rain's killer, I'm going back to London, with or without him. I came to these godforsaken colonies nearly six years ago. He swore we'd only stay a year. I figure my duty to him is done."

  "Him." She drew up her legs to ward off the chill of the autumn evening. "And just who is Hunter to you?"

  Jon shook his head slowly, watching the flames lick at a piece of wood he'd tossed into the fire. "A companion. A friend since childhood." He chuckled. "No. He's more." He stretched out on the ground again, tucking his hands behind his head.

  "His father brought me back from the colonies when I was three. Apparently I was an orphan from one of the Shawnee villages. No one wanted me. Shortly thereafter the earl married Hunter's mother and she gave birth to Hunter. I think I was supposed to have been a manservant to Hunter, but it didn't turn out that way. The earl was very good to me. Hunter and I shared the same schoolmasters. I was taught the ways of a gentleman at Hunter's side. He and I have been inseparable since Hunter's governess cut his apron strings."

  Alexandra smiled as she listened to Jon. "It does the heart good to hear of such friendship." She rubbed her arms for warmth, wishing she had had a friend as she was growing up. Of course her household had been full of sisters, but no one had ever been her friend. Not the kind of friend that Jon talked of. She lifted her gaze until it settled on Jon's face. "Who is he, Jon? You speak of title and lands . . . money. My family may well have known his. Tell me who he is," she implored softly.

  "Not my position to say."

  "What isn't?" Hunter asked, as he stepped into the circle of light.

  Alexandra jumped involuntarily. "God's teeth, how do you do that? I never heard you!"

  "He's always sneaking up like that. Drives me to distraction, too," Jon commented, reaching for the flask of brandy at his side.

  "Lucky I wasn't a Mohawk or I'd have had your scalps on my belt by now," Hunter said. His tone was light and playful. The darkness Alexandra had seen on his face a few hours earlier was gone. "You both need to be more observant of your surroundings."

  "No need." Jon flashed him a grin. "Not when I've got you around."

  Hunter slung the bow and quiver of arrows off his back and laid them on the ground. He acted as if he wanted to say something to Alexandra, but just couldn't find the words.

  She looked up at him, speaking before she lost her courage. "I . . . I'm sorry I provoked you. It was none of my business." His hazel-eyed gaze settled on her face and her voice wavered. "You . . . you were right that I should be more grateful. I'd have died in the hands of Two Crows or the man he was going to sell me to."

  "No, you wouldn't have." Hunter sat down on the ground between her and Jon. "You're a survivor. You'd have to be, to have made it three weeks in the hands of the likes of that half-breed." He snatched the brandy flask from Jon who was in midswallow, and took a long pull. "You'd have found a way to escape. That or talked one of them into letting you loose. Hell, with a tongue like yours, you could talk a man out of his soul. He'd give it to you just to shut you up."

  Alexandra knew she should be offended by his words, but she chose not to be. He had said she was a survivor, and she knew that in his mind that was a high compliment. So what if he said she was sharp-tongued? It was the truth, wasn't it? Hadn't her father and mother said so, often enough? Hadn't they said that was a good part of the reason why she couldn't catch a husband?

  Alexandra dared a glance at Hunter as he took another sip of the brandy. "There's rabbit left for you there beside the fire. It's safe enough. I didn't skin it. Jon did."

  Hunter shrugged. "'Tis an easy enough task to learn, to skin a rabbit. The children in the Shawnee camps learn to clean game by the time they're old enough to toddle." He took a bit of the succulent dark meat. "I told you I wouldn't mind teaching you. All you have to do is ask."

  She smiled to herself thinking that this man could be quite pleasant when he set his mind to it. Was this the side of him that his wife, Laughing Rain, had fallen in love with? A hundred questions tumbled in her mind as she watched him pick at the rabbit. What kind of husband had he been? A smitten lover, or a cool provider? What kind of father would he have made?

  Then she wondered what brought such thoughts to her head. She lay back on the skin bedding, listening to the men's low comforting voices. Exhaustion, no doubt was what brought on such silly notions about Hunter.

  I'll have to be careful, she warned herself. Else I might find myself liking this virile creature.

  But as she drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were of Hunter and his long red tresses blowing in the autumn wind.

  Dawn came all too quickly and once again, Hunter, Jon, Alexandra, and the mule, were on the trail. They walked at a grueling pace set by Hunter, with the rising sun on their backs and the cool fall breezes on their faces. The canopy of trees over their heads was painted with an artist's brush from a palette of browns, reds, and golds, and the air was filled with brightly colored leaves drifting to the ground.

  "How much farther is the village?" Alexandra asked. She had vowed to herself that she'd not complain about the arduous travel but she was tired to the bone. It seemed as if her head barely hit the cradle of her arms and Jon was shaking her awake, telling her Hunter was up and ready to start west again.

  Jon picked up a stick and began to drag it along the scattered leaves. "Hunter says we'll reach there today if we can keep up the pace."

  She exhaled slowly.

  "Why?" he continued. "You tired? Want me to tell him to slow down? We could rest. I know I could sure as hell use it."

  "No." She lifted her hand. "No, I'm all right. We're not moving any faster than Two Crows did. I swear by the king's cod, he dragged me over most of the Maryland Colony." When she looked up at Jon, she could see a silly grin on his face. "What? Why are you laughing at me?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing. It's just been a long time since I've heard a young Englishwoman speak."

  "Young? My mother thinks me haggard. Nearly past the age to be pawned off. No prospective husbands left for me but the feeble minded grey-hairs with bad cases of the gout."

  Hunter's baritone voice rang out in laughter.

  Alexandra looked to Jon. "Does he always eavesdrop on other's conversations?"

  "Always
."

  On impulse, Alexandra hastened her pace until she caught up with Hunter, who was leading the mule. "You find my plight so amusing?"

  "To be unhindered by the bonds of marriage, that's a hindrance?"

  "Perhaps not to a man but to a woman, yes. I'm my father's property until I take a husband. As a wife I might have few rights, but they'd be a damned few more than I have now."

  "You deserve better," Hunter said quietly.

  "What?" She looked up at him quizzically. "I deserve better how?"

  "I mean that a woman like you shouldn't be passed off to the first man who comes along just so that your father doesn't have to feed you."

  "An odd opinion for an Englishman."

  "Among the Shawnee and Delaware, women are men's equals."

  "No?" Alexandra's face lit up. "You jest."

  "I don't. My . . ." He lowered his head so that she couldn't see his hazel eyes. "When I married my wife, I married into her family. She owned our wigwam and everything inside it. Had we had any children,"—his voice seemed to strain as he spoke—"they would have been hers as well. Among the woodland tribes women are voting members of the village, of the clan, of the entire Algonquian-speaking nation. Not only are they the mothers of our children, but often the chiefs and medicine women of our people."

  "Our," Alexandra said softly. "You said our people."

  "My friend here considers himself one of them," Jon offered. "The Shawnee adopted him."

  "Adopted?"

  "He became one of them, as if of their blood. It's a strange notion these native Americans have. They think that by saying a man is their brother, it makes it so."

  "I never knew such things! I'm impressed."

  Hunter had an odd look on his face, as if he was greatly surprised by her words. "You really are, aren't you?"

  "I've never known anything about any other cultures before," she said as Hunter lifted a low-hanging branch to keep it from striking her in the face and she ducked beneath his arm. As she straightened, his hand brushed her back in a strangely intimate way. "These people seem rather civilized for naked heathens."