Realizing his limited choices, Hunter let his entire body go limp. This was not the way to fight a man, face to the ground, his weapon out of reach. Better to play along, and wait for a chance to take the upper hand. Pray for a chance, Hunter told himself.
"I will let you up if you vow to keep silent, but I swear, this man will not be given away by a fool."
There was something familiar about this Mohawk's voice. Hunter's nerves were raw. He knew him. He knew this brave.
The moment the attacker moved off Hunter, Hunter leapt to his feet. Even in the shadows of twilight Hunter recognized the man. "Two Crows!"
The Indian lowered his gaze. "You are a fool, Hunter of the Shawnee, to run through the forest like a spooked deer. You are one and they are many. You cannot save the woman of yours without forethought."
Hunter stared at Two Crows. His facial wounds inflicted by Cain and his bullies were healing. The Iroquois still wore rags tied around the hand Hunter had shot the fingers off of. "What in God's holy name are you doing here and what do you know of my wife?"
Two Crows dropped into a crouch and pointed in the direction of the fort. The smell of burning tar and charred wood was sharp in the air, but Hunter saw no signs of fire. Whatever had been burning, the walls of the fort, he surmised, had been put out. He knelt on one knee beside Two Crows. He still didn't trust the renegade, but the man had spared his life and he knew something about Alexandra. "My wife," Hunter urged. "Tell me what you know of her capture."
"The cap-i-tan, he came for her only a day after you left. I followed him here. The cap-i-tan and you, your paths did not cross."
"I got held up. Someone attacked an old Shawnee man in the forest, wounded him fatally, and killed his escorts. A good guess would be that they were Cain's men. I understand he travels with Iroquois."
Two Crows nodded. "He brings my brothers with him to this fort."
"Three days. You said he came to the fort three days ago." Hunter stared through the underbrush trying to catch a glimpse of Alexandra, of anything. Campfire smoke rose and curled heavenward. Oddly it appeared to be coming from outside the fort walls. "If he took her three days ago why is he here? Why didn't he carry her off and why the hell are they camped outside the walls?"
Two Crows looked at him, a silly smirk on his face. "The white woman, the woman you call your own now, she held the fort."
Hunter looked in the direction of the fort; most of the north wall was obscured by the trees, but he caught a flash of red uniform. He looked back at Two Crows. "The soldiers, you mean. The soldiers held the fort."
Two Crows gave a quick shake of his head. "The fort soldier-leader walked outside the gates with his men. I watched the fool. Cain's men killed them all, but someone closed the gates from the inside. I see only boys for sentries. Your woman gave the orders."
Hunter swore softly. "So where is she now? That was her. I heard her scream."
Two Crows laid his hand on Hunter's to keep him from leaping up. "I tell you, she is safe for this moment. Cap-i-tan will not harm her. Not yet. He sells the women. He can get nothing for a corpse."
Hunter knew what Two Crows said was true. He was one man and they had many. He couldn't just barrel in. If he did, odds were, he would lose his lite. Most likely Alexandra would die as well, or worse, live to wish she had died. Hunter had to have a plan. "How many men?" he asked. Before Two Crows could respond, he grabbed his arm. "Wait. How do you know all this? How is it that you come to stand here and not with your brothers, the Mohawk dogs? A trap?" He tightened his grip. "Because if this is a trap I will kill you, Two Crows. I'll strip your hide from your bones and hang it from the trees as carrion for the turkey buzzards."
Two Crows lifted his black-eyed gaze to meet Hunter's. "No trap. No trick. I went into the fort to warn your woman. She did not tell me you had gone." He nodded. "But when she closed the gates I knew you were not among the soldiers inside."
Hunter released his grip. "You warned her?"
He nodded. "But she would not listen. She thought I spoke lies. She knew when the cap-i-tan came that this man did not speak lies."
"None of this tells me why, Two Crows. Why did you warn my wife? Why did you come here at all? Cain will kill you when he finds you have betrayed him."
"Why does not matter." Two Crows turned away. "We must make the plan. Darkness will fall. We will take her from them when the night spirits come."
Hunter watched Two Crows for a moment. All reason told him not to trust the renegade. He was without scruples, without honor; he was a thief and a murderer. Yet something in the man's tone of voice made Hunter think he could trust him, even with his own life. "We? You say we will take her? You intend to help me?"
He nodded. "Enough of this talk. You want my help or you do not. Tell me."
Again, logic warned Hunter not to trust him. Send him away, a voice echoed inside his head. "Yes, this man accepts your help and he thanks you. Now I have to see my wife. I have to know she's all right."
Two Crows crooked a finger, beckoning Hunter to follow him. "These brothers, I would not call brothers. They have grown lazy and stupid. For three nights I stand within paces of them and they do not hear me. They do not see me." He ducked beneath the boughs of a pine tree and dropped to his knees and began to crawl toward the fort. "Come and you can see your woman, but I warn you, do not speak or she will die. My brothers thirst for blood. We will both die if they know we are here before we wish them to know."
Hunter nodded.
Keeping his body flat to the ground, he crawled behind Two Crows, oblivious to the cold wetness of the ground or the branches and briars that snagged on his buckskins. Two Crows had somehow beaten a path through the seemingly impenetrable undergrowth. Closer and closer they drew to the fort until he could hear individual voices. He heard Cain and another soldier, then an Iroquois, then finally the sound of Alexandra's voice.
He almost smiled. She wasn't sobbing, or pleading for her life. He couldn't tell at this distance exactly what she was saying, but he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was lashing out at her captors. Good, Hunter thought. Hang onto that anger, sweeting. It will keep you alive, at least for a little while . . .
They drew closer until Two Crows turned back to Hunter and brought a finger to his lips. He moved aside and parted the pine boughs. Hunter rose up in instantaneous anger, but he checked himself before he drew attention to their hiding place.
Alexandra was bound hand and foot and seated on the ground beneath a sycamore tree. A soldier in a tattered blue uniform was tying her to the tree. Cain stood only a few feet from her, arguing with several of the Mohawks. They were discussing whether or not they should break camp tonight.
One Mohawk, a man with a human fingerbone threaded through his earlobe, stepped up to Cain. Obviously he was the leader of the renegade Iroquois. In broken English he warned Cain of the foolishness of remaining here all night. Cain argued that he didn't care what the Mohawks wanted. He needed a hot meal and a good night's sleep before they started north into Iroquois country.
The conversation became more heated. The Mohawk made a sudden advance toward Cain and shouted in his own tongue. Cain whipped a pistol from his coat and pulled the trigger before the Indian had the chance to back down. The echo of the shot was followed by the muffled thump of the Mohawk's body as it fell. Even at this distance Hunter could smell the acrid black powder mingled with the sickeningly sweet scent of fresh blood and bits of brain tissue. In the cold air of late afternoon, steam rose from the crack in the dead Mohawk's skull.
"Settles that discussion, doesn't it?" Cain said, glancing up at the other Indians. "Anyone else have any comments on the matter?" Spooked, the Mohawks scattered to their assigned posts. Cain shrugged. "There you have it then."
Hunter felt his stomach lurch. He was a Shawnee warrior. He had seen many deaths, but one so cowardly made him physically ill. Cain was a bully. God, but he hated a bully worse than anyone else on God's green earth.
&nbs
p; "Murderer," Alexandra shouted from beneath the sycamore tree. "May your bones rot in bloody hell."
"No," Hunter whispered. "Hush, sweeting. Just once, keep your pretty mouth shut."
He wanted to call out to Alexandra. He wanted her to know that he hadn't abandoned her. He wanted her to know that she only need bide her time and not antagonize the bastard. But here she was again, speaking before she thought, riling the man who could kill her as easily as he had just killed the Mohawk his friends were now dragging away.
"What did you say?" Cain said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. He turned to face Alexandra whose hands were tied behind her back.
"I called you a murderer," she shouted. "Son of a poxed whore! Coward!"
Cain took the four steps between them. "Do not perturb me, lovely thing, or you'll lose your life as quickly as the man before you."
She laughed at him. "So kill me. Why not? Do it now," she dared, thrusting her chin at him, glaring with hatred-filled dark eyes. "Kill me like you killed Laughing Rain!"
"Laughing Rain?"
"My husband's first wife. You murdered her."
He smiled. "Ah, yes." He shrugged. "Hunter of the Shawnee. I make the connection now." He took a knife from his belt and slowly drew it back and forth across his leather pants leg. "Didn't mean to kill her, you know. She'd have brought a pretty price. But the bitch fought me. Cut me. I had to open her end to end. It was self-defense." He smiled. "Two of this Hunter's women. What a coincidence."
"He'll come for you," she taunted. "Hunter will come for you and you'll die. Kill me if you like. You'll still die and burn in everlasting hell."
Cain brought the tip of the hunting knife to her lower lip.
Every muscle in Hunter's body tensed. He was too far away to make a kill by bow or spear. If he had to, he would make a run for her. As he watched Cain, Hunter was poised to leap.
"Now why don't you close that mouth of yours before I have to cut your tongue out," Cain cautioned Alexandra.
A dot of blood rose on Alexandra's lip.
She opened her mouth to speak. Then closed it. Hunter heaved a massive sigh of relief.
Cain smiled at her. "Excellent. I like a woman who knows how to obey her man. Wait another night or two until I'm able to provide us with some privacy and I'll teach you what a woman can do for a man when she's willing to obey. I'll make you forget your Hunter, I vow to that."
A soldier called to Cain, and the captain walked away from Alexandra, leaving her be, at least for the present.
Two Crows touched Hunter's shoulder lightly. He signaled with a bob of his head for Hunter to follow him again. Hunter hated to leave Alexandra unguarded, but he knew he and Two Crows must make plans. They had to have a carefully laid course before they went into the camp.
On their hands and knees they crawled through the tunnel of greenbriers until they reached a safe distance from Cain's camp.
"Son of a blind cur," Hunter muttered as he rose and stretched his long legs. "We have to go in now. We can't leave her tied like that. I can't do it."
"No."
Hunter glared at Two Crows. "No? Who the hell are you to be telling me no? Misbegotten prick!" He slammed Two Crows in the chest with his palms. Two Crows dropped his spear. Hunter gripped him by his leather vest and shook him. "If it hadn't been for you, Alexandra would never be in this position to begin with! I ought to kill you now and be done with you!"
Two Crows refused to make eye contact with Hunter. "Kill me if you wish, Hunter of the Shawnee," he said, his voice steady and without emotion. "But it would be better to wait and kill this man after he had helped you save your wife from the men this man calls brothers."
He was right. Hunter knew he was right. He needed help. He shoved Two Crows backward, wondering where the hell Jon was. If Jon were here, he wouldn't need Two Crows.
Hunter panted, trying to gain control of his emotions. He would be of no help to Alexandra this way. He had to remain calm and go about this in a logical manner. There wasn't much time, and there would only be one chance.
He looked at Two Crows. "You think we should wait until dark?"
The Mohawk nodded. "The sun already begins to set. This cap-i-tan and his men, they are lazy. They will not break camp tonight."
"We wait until most of them go to sleep and then we slip in? The coward's way?"
"The way to save the woman," Two Crows responded.
Hunter gave a sigh. Cain had at least two dozen men, more, counting sentries. He and Two Crows, no matter how fierce warriors they were, would be hard-pressed to beat two dozen men in open battle. If they could sneak in when most of the men slept, they would have a much better chance at getting out alive. The question was, could Alexandra hold on that long? "Cain may try to rape her," he said, his own voice sounding hollow in his head.
Two Crows nodded. "We will watch and wait. If we must, we attack early. Now we prepare ourselves."
Hunter slipped his quiver of arrows off his back. "I can't believe this," he mused aloud. "I swore I would kill you if I set eyes on your face again and now I agree to fight at your side."
"This man fights at your side." Two Crows began to disrobe. "Now we go down to the riverside. We make our bodies invisible. We make our hearts worthy."
Hunter studied the man he had considered his adversary. "You're serious, aren't you? You'll die to help me get her back?"
He made the hand sign of peace. "To die fighting is to die honorably." He lowered his gaze. "It has been a long time since this man knew honor."
Hunter dropped his bow to the ground and began to strip down. He was trying to understand Two Crows, but he couldn't. Why would a man who had sold a woman now try to rescue her? A Mohawk with a conscience? It was hard to believe. "Is that what this is all about? Honor?"
Now nude, but seemingly unaffected by the falling temperature, Two Crows strapped his belt around his waist again, checked for his knife, and took up his spear. "I told you. Why, does not matter. You take this man's help, or you do not." He shrugged. "It is your choice, he who the Shawnee call the Hunter."
Stripped down to nothing but a leather loincloth, Hunter shivered as he leaned over to take his beaded belt and his quiver and his bow. "I will take your help, but be warned. You betray this man and you and yours will be cursed for a thousand years."
Two Crows gave a nod and then turned and ran off into the forest in the direction of the Noniack River. Hunter followed.
Darkness set in. The full moon rose bright in the sky, and still Hunter and Two Crows waited, crouched on the cold ground.
"A full moon, an evil omen," Two Crows whispered.
Hunter shook his head. "A hunter's moon, always a good sign for me." He ignored Two Crows as the Indian made a sign against bad luck. The Shawnee always said the Mohawks were a superstitious lot.
Hunter watched through the cover of underbrush confident of the magic of the paint he wore. Down by the river he had covered himself in freezing riverbed mud. Then he had dug deep into his medicine bag and found the tiny pots of battle paint he carried with him always. Mixing the pungent, colored scrapings with water, he had painted his body and face in the manner of a Shawnee brave about to go to war. Across his torso he wore streaks of camouflage, but down his arms and across his cheekbones he painted the symbols that signified the Shawnee family he had been adopted into and the history of their bravery. With each symbol his confidence grew, his power grew. As he made each streak of paint he absorbed the strength of his Shawnee ancestors. Hunter knew he would be triumphant over the enemy. By the time he had completed the ritual, he was confident he would save Alexandra; he knew he would accomplish the vengeance that was rightfully his.
Now he needed only to choose the right moment to set the inevitable sequence of events in motion.
Hunter glanced at the man he had once considered his enemy, who now offered his own life to aid Hunter in his cause. Two Crows had also stripped naked and painted himself, but the paint of the Iroquois was bold and boastful
. Angry red streaks covered his face and chest.
"The men sleep," Hunter said, his voice as soft as the whisper of the October wind. "Four sentries—two Mohawks and a bluecoat. We take them one at a time. Quietly. I get Alexandra out and then go back in for Cain. He dies and we move out."
Two Crows nodded as he slipped his hunting knife out of his belt. "May the spirits of the war gods be with you," he offered.
"God be with you," Hunter echoed.
The two men parted, fanning out, nearly invisible to the naked eye. Hunter crept up behind the first Mohawk sentry. The brave, either half asleep, or his instincts clouded by whiskey, never turned. Hunter cut his throat clean and let the body slip to the ground.
The second man was a little more difficult. Hunter had to approach him nearly head on. He took his bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and called softly in Iroquois to the brave, who carried a belt heavy with human scalps. The man spun around. Hunter's arrow flew clean, piercing the Indian's heart and stopping it in midbeat. The leaves beneath his moccasins rustled as he fell to the ground.
With the two men dead and Two Crows taking the other two, Hunter was free to walk into the firelit camp. He cut around the circle of wavering light, moving hesitantly toward Alexandra. She was tied to the tree, huddled inside her cloak for warmth, her head hung in exhausted sleep. Cain slept on a bedroll beneath a bearskin only a few feet from her.
Hunter crept behind the sycamore tree, left leafless and skeletal by the autumn winds. He murmured a prayer vowing to make this marriage work if only God would set Alexandra free unharmed.
He took a deep breath and carefully brought his hands around the back of the tree and covered her mouth. Alexandra bolted awake, clamping her teeth down on the soft flesh of Hunter's palm. The barest squeak of a cry escaped the muffle of his hand.
Chapter Twenty
For hours Alexandra had fought sleep, fearful Cain would attack her if she relaxed her guard, but finally she had succumbed. She awoke the instant the hands clamped down on her mouth. She tried to scream but the hands that smelled of stinking bog bottom smothered her voice. She bit down hard on the soft flesh of the palms.
His Wild Heart Page 21