Defiant

by Pamela Clare

  For a moment, he was silent. “You need not fear them now. I willna suffer them to harm you. You’re under my protection, my lady.”

  Finished, she tied the stitches off and cut the thread with his knife.

  He looked down at his wound, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, his face a shade paler than it had been. Then he pulled a shirt of green-checked homespun out of his bundle of gear and drew it over his head. “You’ve some skill wi’ a needle. Those are the neatest stitches I’ve e’re seen. My thanks, lass.”

  “You are most kind, sir.” She bent down and washed her hands in a bowl of water already stained by his blood.

  Now was the time. She needed to ask him. She needed to ask him while they were together and alone. She stood and faced him, drying her hands on the hem of the shirt he’d let her borrow.

  But before she could gather her resolve, he spoke. “When did you last eat, lass?”

  She had to think. “This morning when we awoke.”

  “That must have been afore dawn. You must be famished.” He crossed the lodge, pushed aside the mats that served as a door, and called out something in the Indian tongue before returning to her side. “I’ve asked them to bring you a warm meal. While we wait, sit with me and tell me what happened. I wish to hear it all.”

  The request took Sarah by surprise. “Why?”

  His answer astonished her even more than the original question. “’Tis a terrible ordeal you’ve endured, my lady. I thought you might want to unburden your heart by speakin’ of it to someone.”

  Only one other person had ever asked her to share the troubles of her heart.

  Margaret.

  A hard lump in her throat, Sarah sat beside him, the shrieks of the attacking Indians, the sharp report of musket fire, and the screams of the dying echoing afresh through her mind. She could feel Katakwa’s grip as he first took her arm, smell the acrid scent of gunpowder, feel smoke burn her eyes.

  Had that been only yesterday?

  Saying nothing of the scandal that had gotten her exiled to New York, Sarah told the major what had happened, the horror of the attack and forced flight through the forest coming back to her as she spoke, making her tremble, her vision blurring with tears when she told him of Jane, young Thomas, and their courage.

  “I sat by the fire while the Indians stitched their scalps onto hoops, afraid to give in to my tears, certain the Indians would slay me, too, if I made a sound.”

  She felt something touch her shoulders—a woolen blanket. She drew it tightly around herself, grateful once again for the major’s thoughtfulness.

  “We found their bodies—your Jane and the boy. They lay by the creek where last you saw them. I am sorry, my lady.” Major MacKinnon’s voice was deep, his warm Scottish burr soothing. “If it brings you comfort, they were no’ made to suffer torment ere they died.”

  Sarah was grateful at least for that. “Why were they slain? Why was I spared?”

  Until she’d said the words aloud, she had not realized how desperately she needed to know the answer.

  “Dinnae blame yourself, my lady. There was naugh’ you could have done to stop this. Katakwa wanted a wife, and he chose you. The two who took Jane and Thomas told Joseph they’d meant to adopt them, but slew them instead because they were pursued by soldiers and couldna move fast enough wi’ three captives.”

  This made no sense to Sarah. How could they want to adopt Jane and Thomas one moment, then kill them both the next? “That is cruel! Why couldn’t they have simply left them alive for the soldiers to find?”

  “I dinnae ken, my lady.” A look of weariness came over the major’s face. “Much innocent blood has been spilled in this war—Jane, Thomas, Katakwa’s wife, and countless more. One day I fear we shall have to answer to God for this slaughter—I more than most.”

  And Sarah wondered what he meant by that, but then the major looked toward the door. He seemed to be listening to voices from outside the lodge.

  When his gaze met hers again, he spoke rapidly. “I dinnae ken how much longer we shall be alone together, and there is much for us to discuss.”

  Quickly he explained what Joseph had already told her—that the only way he’d been able to stop the chief from giving her to Katakwa was to fight Katakwa for the right to take her to wife himself.

  “Upon my honor, my lady, I sought only to free you. If I’d no’ spoken at that moment, Katakwa would have claimed you, and there would have been naugh’ that Joseph and I could have done to stop him—or to bring you home again.”

  “Joseph told me that we…that you and I must…”

  “That we must lie together tonight? Och, he’s as gabbie as an old alewife!” The major shook his head, muttered a string of oaths, then met her gaze. “In truth, lass, I dinnae ken what will happen. I didna wish to tell you of it until I was certain, but, aye, the old hen says that my claim upon you willna be complete until we have coupled. I thought to appease her by seemin’ to lie together, but the Shawnee have a custom by which a midwife stays wi’ the man and his wife through the night to be certain…”

  Whatever the major was saying, Sarah could no longer hear him over the pounding of her own heartbeat. It was too much—the attack, Jane and Thomas’s deaths, the gauntlet, what Katakwa’s sisters had done to her, the knife fight, and now this.

  She stood, shaking her head. “No! No. This cannot be happening. It cannot. You must find a way out of this. My uncle would never permit me to be—”

  In the next instant, Major MacKinnon was on his feet, his expression dark. “Your uncle is leagues from here, Princess, and even were he standin’ on this spot, he could do naugh’ to aid you. A brigadier general he might be, and a fine wee lairdie at that, but he’s no warrior. This is no’ a game of chess, my lady, but a battle of wits and will in which lives may yet be lost.”

  Shocked by his abrupt change of manner and the way he spoke of Uncle William, she took an instinctive step backward.

  He drew a deep breath, and some of the anger seemed to leave him. “Your supper will soon be here. Eat. Take some rest. I’ll see to it no one troubles you.”

  A sense of despair pressed in on her. “Why are they doing this to me—to both of us?”

  The major seemed to consider this. When he spoke, his voice was gentle once more. “Grannie Clear Water has lost face in the eyes of her people because I defeated her war chief. ’Tis a hard thing for a woman chief. She kens that no man may touch you wi’out your father’s consent, for I told her this during our parley today. She kens I fought only to free you, not to wed you. By forcing us to join, she bends us to her will and regains some of the standin’ she has lost.”

  He started past her, then stopped beside her, turning his head to look down at her. “I ken you are frightened. So am I. I’ve ne’er committed rape upon a woman, and I’ve no desire to start wi’ you, lass. As God is my witness, I shall do all I can to spare us both.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 6

  It was just after sunset when Connor made his way back toward the lodge where he’d left Lady Sarah. His hair was still damp, the shirt they’d taken off him bunched in his hand, the night air cold against his bare skin. A sense of anticipation filled the air around him, making his already dark mood darker.

  A bonfire burned in the center of the village, casting long shadows. Children stood in the orange circle of firelight, making a game of tossing sticks into the blaze. Men sat in groups in front of the lodges, talking together in quiet voices, while women bustled about, tending smaller cook fires, venison roasting over the flames, ash cakes cooking in the embers. Every gaze turned his way as he passed, the men’s eyes filled with suspicion, the children’s with curiosity, the women’s with blatant interest. He ignored them all.

  He found Joseph sitting outside the door to the lodge and spoke to him in English so that no one could understand. “How does she fare?”

  “She sleeps still.” Joseph stood, his gaze traveling over Connor’s c
lean-shaven face and hairless chest, his lips curving in a grin. “What’s this? The Cub is not so furry.”

  “That devil woman’s granddaughters waylaid me, took me to her lodge, insisting they had to prepare me for the ceremony. They bathed and oiled me, shaved my face, then plucked every hair out of my chest and belly. God’s blood, it was torture!”

  Connor’s skin still smarted.

  Joseph chuckled. “You look good—just like a human being should look. Only animals have hairy faces and bodies.”

  This was a familiar disagreeance, one they’d debated many times afore.

  “Real men have hair on their chests,” Connor fired back. “You look like a lass wi’ smooth paps.”

  But this only made Joseph laugh harder.

  Connor’s temper snapped. “Dinnae be laughin’ at me. They went for my cods, so they did! I had to shove them away, else they’d have plucked me bare there, too. I willna submit my bollocks to such abuse.”

  Joseph bit his lip, clearly trying to rein in his mirth. “So you prefer to make women search the bush to find the snake?”

  “My snake is no’ so small that the lasses must search for it.” Connor was in no mood for foolishness. “Och, Joseph, for the love of God, stop your bloody jestin’! Did you discover anythin’ that might be of use to us?”

  But before Joseph could answer, it struck Connor.

  Was this how Katakwa’s sisters had hurt Lady Sarah? Had they done to her what Grannie Clear Water’s daughters had tried to do to him? Had they plucked the tender flesh of her quim bare?

  The thought sent a bolt of lust to his groin, even as his skin shrank in sympathy. He was so distracted by the thought that it took a moment for him to realize that Joseph was speaking.

  “I spent the afternoon alone with Turtle Eggs, a pretty woman who says she was Katakwa’s lover until he set his mind on stealing a wife. She says there are extra sentries posted tonight. If we are caught trying to flee, as they seem to hope we will be, you and I are to be burned at the stake and Sarah handed over to Katakwa to do with as he pleases.”

  If Connor had been alone, he might have chanced it, but Lady Sarah could neither fight nor was she practiced at woodcraft. Slipping through their sentries with her beside him would be all but impossible. Even attempting it would be foolhardy.

  “What of this midwife?” Connor had tried again to persuade Grannie Clear Water not to burden his wedding night with the unwanted presence of another, but she had refused even to speak of it.

  “The midwife’s name is Crow Mother. Turtle Eggs says she is Grannie Clear Water’s younger sister. We cannot bribe her.”

  “Does she like rum? Can we drug her?”

  “We could try.” Joseph shrugged, then frowned. “But we’d best be far away from here before she awakens and realizes what we have done.”

  “We cannae be certain when the old woman will give us leave to go, so we cannot chance that either.” They were running out of possibilities. “Perhaps I could make on as if I were tupping the lass, but leave her intact.”

  “Pretend to couple with her without entering her?” Joseph shook his head. “Do you think you can mislead a midwife? What happens if this Crow Mother checks Sarah to make sure her maidenhead is broken and your seed planted? That’s a dangerous game to play, brother. Who’s to say what they would do if they found you had misled them—burn us, burn her, give her to Katakwa to do the deed?”

  “Och, Christ!” Connor squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face in his hands.

  He was used to feeling the weight of men’s lives upon his shoulders. He’d gone into battle first as Iain’s lieutenant, then as Morgan’s captain, and then he’d led the Rangers himself—near on two hundred men depending on him for their training, their orders, their survival. But that was nothing compared to the burden he felt now.

  He opened his eyes, saw understanding in Joseph’s gaze. “As God is my witness, I’ve ne’er taken a woman against her will. ’Tis one sin at least that doesna lie upon my head. If I do this, she will remember it always. Whene’er her husband touches her, whene’er he takes her to his bed, she will think on this night, and she will hate me.”

  “Perhaps, but she will be alive and free. I’d like to think that the woman who was courageous and shrewd enough to leave us that trail would understand that you are being forced as well. But tell me—do you think you can do it? Will you be able to rise?”

  The lass was Wentworth’s niece, by God! That thought alone ought to have been like a splash of icy water to his cods, but it seemed to have no effect at all.

  “Aye.” Connor was ashamed to admit it, but it was true. “Och, she is bonnie, pleasing in every way. Aye, I will rise. My body will find pleasure in it, but I swear my heart and head willna. Joseph, what in God’s name am I to do?”

  “Why don’t you ask her? Let her decide.”

  In the darkness of the lodge, on the other side of the bark walls, Sarah listened. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she heard it all.

  Sarah was still lying down, facing away from the door, when she heard him enter. She lay there unmoving, childishly feigning sleep, as if refusing to open her eyes would somehow keep the world and all its horrors at bay.

  Major MacKinnon called to her softly. “My lady?”

  Do not behave like a witless girl, Sarah. Where is your courage?

  She wiped the tears off her cheeks, then slowly sat up, the dread in her heart seeming to weigh her down. “Major MacKinnon.”

  “’Tis sorry I am to disturb your sleep, but I must speak wi’ you.”

  She stood, turned to face him, whatever she’d been about to say momentarily forgotten as she took in the sight of him. His jaw was clean-shaven, his face startlingly handsome. Firelight emphasized the ridges and valleys of his muscles, made his oiled skin glow like polished bronze, the dark curls she’d seen before gone. His hair was damp, a striped, brown feather tied at the end of one of his braids. He still wore the bands of purple shell on his arms, his leather breeches riding low on his hips. The sheathed knife at his side and the wounds he’d gotten during the fight gave him a dangerous air.

  But what she noticed most was the anguish in his eyes. It was a match for the anguish she’d heard in his voice when he’d spoken to Joseph outside.

  “Please…Please sit, Major.” She sat, reaching down out of habit to shift her skirts, only to feel leather against her hands. “I wish to apologize for my fit of ill temper earlier. You have risked much for me. It was wrong of me to—”

  “Shhh, lady.” He pressed a finger to her lips and sat facing her. “You’re far beyond the world you ken, aye? ’Tis natural for you to be feelin’ afraid and angry about what has befallen you, but you must trust me if we’re to leave here alive.”

  He looked away for a moment, his face growing more troubled as he seemed to consider what to say next, his brow furrowed. “I fear I have failed you, for it is on that same troublin’ matter that we must speak.”

  She watched him struggle to find the words to tell her what he’d just told Joseph, something inside her touched by his obvious turmoil. “I…I overheard you speaking with Joseph just now.”

  His head came up, surprise written on his face, his gaze meeting hers, seeming to study her face. “That’s why you’ve been weepin’. I see the tearstains on your cheeks.”

  She raised her palms to her face to wipe away the telltale sign of weakness.

  “You understand the choice that lies before you, aye?”

  She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “I must decide whether to chance escape, knowing that you and Joseph will die terribly should we fail, or whether to marry you after the Indian fashion and spend tonight…as your wife.”

  “Aye, that’s the way of it. ’Tis a hard choice you’re bein’ asked to make, but life is no’ always fair.”

  Sarah knew that only too well.

  Major MacKinnon went on. “Is there augh’ you would ask me afore you decide? There is little time, I fear.”


  She shook her head. “No, sir.”

  She’d made up her mind before he’d entered the lodge.

  She met his gaze, tried to keep the fear from her voice. “I cannot ask you to chance being burnt at the stake, Major. You’ve already risked your life once for my sake. As highly as I value my virtue, it is not worth two good men’s lives.”

  What an irony that her father’s decision to send her away had led her to this—her true undoing. No doubt there were many in London who believed she had no virtue, yet she had left London as a virgin. She would not return as one.

  He watched her through dark eyes. “Are you certain, my lady? For I willna take you by force. You must come to me as willingly as I come to you—each of us for the sake of the other.”

  She hadn’t thought about it in quite that way, but when he spoke the words, some of the dread lifted from her heart. “Yes, Major, I am certain. But…”

  “You’re afraid.” He closed one big hand over both of hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “I promise I shall treat you this night wi’ the same care and devotion I would if you truly were my bride.”

  Then to her astonishment, he cupped her cheek, lowered his lips to hers—and kissed her.

  Softly, so softly he kissed her, brushing her lips with his again and again, the mere whisper of a touch making her shiver. She might have objected had the sensation not been so…enthralling. Slowly, his touch became more insistent, his lips caressing hers, nibbling them, her lips tingling, going pliant, yielding to his exploration, her eyes drifting shut. Then his tongue traced the outline of her lower lip.

  Startled, she gasped, and her eyes flew open.

  He was watching her, his blue eyes dark, his voice a whisper. “My lady.”

  And she thought it was over.

  But then one big hand slid into her hair to cradle her head, and he drew her against his bare chest, his mouth closing over hers. There were almost too many new sensations to take in all at once, her girlish notions of what it would feel like to be kissed by a man vanishing in a heartbeat. The iron-hard feel of his body surrounding her. The warm scent of his oiled skin. The firm pressure of his lips against hers as he tasted her. His tongue teasing its way inside her mouth with silken strokes.