Forbidden Caress

by Colleen French

  Katelyn listened to the heavy bolt slide into place. Leaning against the door, she slid to the floor, her arms encircling her belly. A sob wracked her body. She didn't even know if Fox was safe! And now she was locked up in a bedroom. Wiping her tears with the hem of her nightgown, she sat up straighter, drawing up her knees. She couldn't feel sorry for herself like this. She didn't have time for such foolishness. She had to devise a plan to escape. When her eyes came to rest on the single window, she jumped to her feet. Maybe . . . but as soon as she reached it and pushed it open, she realized she'd been put in this room for a reason. She was two and a half stories off the ground; there was nothing to climb down —only the sheer brick exterior wall.

  Taking a seat on the floor, Katelyn reached for a biscuit on the side table. If she was going to escape, she'd have to get Henry to let her out of the room.

  When Henry returned to Katelyn's bedroom that evening, he found her looking much like she had the day he met her. She was wearing a dress of soft browns and wore her hair tied back with a narrow ribbon. The only evidence of the past year's events was her rich, dark suntan . . . and her protruding abdomen.

  "Good evening, Henry." Katelyn held her hands clasped in her lap, smiling up at him sweetly.

  Henry pushed the door behind him with one booted foot. "Evening. Feeling better?" He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

  "Much." There was no hint of the raving woman he'd encountered earlier in the day. Her voice was soft and compliant.

  Henry nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his ruby breeches. "Good." He nodded, walking to the window. "I think we should agree now what is to be done with you."

  Katelyn nodded, getting to her feet to stand beside him. "As you wish." Standing beside Henry, Katelyn realized what a small man Fox was. Henry was a full two hands taller, though his build was slighter. The white man had none of the raw, solid strength of the Indian. His blond hair and blue eyes were pretty, but, they didn't hold a candle to Fox's dark masculinity. Katelyn laughed to herself. To think! She'd once thought Henry Bullman was the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on!

  Henry cast a sideways glance, wondering what the girl was grinning about. He cleared his throat, ready to repeat the speech he'd rehearsed. He was glad to see that she was coming to her senses and that he could just ignore that earlier episode. "As I told you, I think we should still marry. I need a wife and you . . . " He cleared his throat again. " . . . and you need a husband. Now I want you to know that I don't hold you responsible for anything that happened to you during your captivity." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a perfumed handkerchief, wiping his brow. This was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. Why was she looking at him with those cow eyes? "You did what you had to to survive. We will send the child away once it's born, as well as any servants who know of your condition."

  Katelyn barely listened as he droned on. She wanted to scream! She wanted to knock him down and beat him with her fists! Instead, she remained silent, her eyes averted, nodding occasionally.

  " . . . see no need for this to go any further than it has to. Though many know you've returned, we'll simply say you're recovering and can't see anyone yet. Once the child is gone, you'll be introduced properly and we can be married by September. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He tucked his handkerchief back in his coat, brushing a stray piece of lint from the rich fabric.

  She raised her eyes to meet his. "Yes. I understand, and I thank you." She lied as easily as she spoke. "You're very kind. I doubt that any other man would have the strength to go through what you have." She turned away, unable to watch him expanding his chest like a barnyard rooster. "And I apologize for all of the terrible things I've said." She pushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. "I don't know what would make me say such things . . . but with all that's happened and the medication . . . " She let her voice trail off until it was nothing.

  Henry let out a great sigh of relief. Thank God Uncle George was right! She was coming around. All of this could be taken care of quietly, without too much fuss. In a few months they would be able to forget everything that had happened. And he would be able to keep his inheritance now that he'd found a wife.

  "That's quite all right, dear." Henry moved to console his betrothed. "We'll speak nothing more of days past." He took her hand, patting it lightly. "I know the shock has been great and you're not responsible for your words or actions." He smiled like a young boy whose bruises had been kissed by his nursemaid. He was so pleased to see that things were going to work out.

  "Thank you, Henry . . . dear." Katelyn looked up at him. He was such a child . . . . but he always would be. She almost pitied him.

  "Good. Now that that's settled." He released her hand carefully, trying to avoid looking at her stomach. He didn't know how he'd missed it that first day he found her at the Carters'. She'd been well covered beneath the ill-fitting dress, he supposed.

  Katelyn's hand went self-consciously to her stomach, as if she might somehow protect her child from his gaze. "Henry," she approached him carefully. "Do you think I might come down and sup with you?" She lowered her eyelashes.

  Henry eyed her carefully. She seemed sincere enough. Uncle George had said he should expect strange behavior. Captives did often side with their captors to begin with. Still, it was too early to give her a free hand. Besides, he didn't want her wandering about the plantation. The fewer servants who knew about this, the fewer he'd have to dismiss. "No. I think it's best you stay here and eat where it's quieter. I have a few friends stopping by to dine with me and I fear it would be too much upset for you."

  "Mary brought me a larger dress." She turned to him anxiously. "You can't see a thing in it."

  "No. You stay here." He moved to the door, reaching for his snuff tin in his breast pocket. "But if you're still awake when they leave, I'll bring you down for a walk through the gardens." He lifted the latch on the door.

  Katelyn tried to conceal her angry disappointment. "Well, all right. If you say so. But do come up for me later." She followed him to the door. "I'll wait up. It's so stuffy in here. I could use the air."

  Katelyn listened to Henry drop the latch on the door and slide the bolt across. After the way she'd carried on that morning, she knew he'd keep a close eye on her for a few days. But at least he was going to take her out tonight. She would see the layout of the house and could begin plans for her escape. Luckily, Henry was very gullible. He believed what she said because he couldn't imagine a woman having a mind of her own. Katelyn flopped down on the soft goose-down tick, laughing. In three or four days time, she'd be on her way to the village.

  Then another thought came to mind. If Tipaakke arrived at the village to find she had never made it, he would go looking for her! He would know to come to Henry's plantation. Even if she couldn't escape, he would come and get her. She knew he had outsmarted the Mohawks and wouldn't even take into consideration the thought that he might be dead. He had promised to be there for the child.

  A warm wave of confidence came over Katelyn as she lay on the bed, thinking of Fox. By the time the baby came, she'd be safe in the village . . . safe in Tipaakke Oopus' arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Good night, Katelyn," Henry called, rapping lightly on her bedchamber door.

  Katelyn pulled the bedcovers up to her chin. "Good night, Henry," she replied in her sweetest voice. "I'll see you at breakfast." Tensely, she waited, listening for the sound of the sliding bolt on her door. Instead, she heard only the echo of Henry's footsteps as he padded down the carpeted hallway to his own room.

  Katelyn smiled in the darkness, sitting up to prop her pillow against the carved cherry headboard. He had not locked her in; this made it two nights in a row. Her plan was working. Henry believed her act! He honestly thought she wanted to stay here with him; the fool thought she was going to give up her baby.

  Resting her head on the plump pillow, Katelyn closed her eyes. If all went as planned, tomorrow night she would be on he
r way to the Lenni Lenape village, and by the next night, she would be with Fox again. With this thought, she peacefully drifted off the sleep.

  Startled, Katelyn woke at the sound of the tall case clock's chimes. Two o'clock? She slid her bare feet to the floor. She hadn't meant to sleep this long; she'd only intended to take a short nap.

  Reaching for her wrapper on the end of the bed, she slipped her arms into it and tied the cord. The hardwood floor was chilly beneath her feet. Tipaakke had told her that only in bare feet, could a man walk in perfect silence. She turned the brass doorknob slowly and held her breath, listening. All was silent in the household. The only sounds that could be heard were those of a sleeping house; Henry's light snoring, the scratching of branches brushing against glass windows, the haunting call of an owl. Her heart pounding, she made her way down the long hallway.

  Taking care to keep her feet on the handwoven carpet, Katelyn hurried to the grand staircase. It would have been faster to go down the back staircase straight to the kitchen, but then she would have had to pass by the servants' rooms. That whole wing was uncarpeted and the floor boards squeaked unmercifully. Someone was bound to hear her.

  Moonlight shone through the window at the top of the stairs, casting dark shadows on the steps. Taking them one at a time, Katelyn stared at the portraits that lined the wall. The eyes of Henry's ancestors followed her, staring accusingly. Their faces were cold and without feeling. Shuddering, she turned from them, knowing she could never have lived happily in this house. She doubted anyone could.

  Stopping at the bottom of the stairs to listen again, she went through the great room, out the back door, and down the covered walkway to the summer kitchen. She was lucky it was late spring. If it were earlier in the year, she would have had to go to the cellar which housed the kitchen during the cold months.

  Slipping through the hand-hewn door, Katelyn's heart caught in her throat. There, sleeping on the floor, was an old black man. Through the darkness she could see his white beard moving as he exhaled. Wheezing, he mumbled something and rolled over, presenting his back to her.

  When it was obvious the servant hadn't heard her, Katelyn went about searching for the necessary items. In the pantry, she found a flour sack nearly empty. Dumping the flour onto the floor, she searched the shelves for food she could carry. Passing over the leftover slices of strawberry pie, she grabbed two handfuls of oatmeal cookies. In a jar she found some strips of dried meat and in a tin, a few hard biscuits. Stuffing her meager fare into the flour sack, she searched the floor-to-ceiling shelves for something to carry water in. Finding nothing, she cursed Henry silently for ordering her things burned. She needed her water bag. The hand-blown glass jars and pottery jug would be too heavy. Hearing the old servant grunt and roll over again, Katelyn slipped out of the pantry back into the main room of the kitchen. Picking up two sharpened knives from the work table in the center of the room, she dropped them into her flour sack. Now all she needed was some decent traveling clothes. She'd already been to the barn the day before to chose the most docile of the horses. She would ride the horse as far as she could and then, when the forest got too dense, she'd let him go. He was likely to find his way home on his own.

  Eyeing the clean aprons that hung on pegs on the wall, Katelyn scratched her chin thoughtfully. Where could she find a sturdy pair of breeches and a shirt? Taking care not to disturb the sleeping man, she slipped out the door.

  Staying close to the outbuildings, she made her way to the backyard. To her delight, there, hanging on a line strung between two trees, was a myriad of assorted clothing. One of the wash maids had forgotten to bring in her last bundle!

  Dropping her flour sack onto the dewy grass, Katelyn pulled a man's homespun shirt off the line and tugged it over her wrapper. It fit! Then she reached for the nearest pair of woolen breeches. To her dismay, she couldn't get them closed over her thickening waist. Letting them slip to the ground, she stripped a large skirt down and tried that on. Pleased with the fit and heavy material, she removed a shawl and stuffed the items into her flour sack.

  Swinging her sack over her shoulder, Katelyn started back across the moonlit yard. Then, after second thoughts, she ran back to the line and started randomly plucking clothes off the line and dropping them here and there on the grass. Pleased that it looked like a stray dog had gotten into the laundry, she made her way back to the house.

  Wary of the night shadows that played off the walls of the great house, Katelyn slipped back into her bedchamber and stowed away her provisions before climbing into the four-postered bed to sleep.

  Night shadows played overhead distorting the shape of trees and branches. Wicked fingers of dark and light haunted Tipaakke as he struggled futilely to loosen his arms and legs. Captured days ago, the Mohawks had driven him like an animal north to their homeland, beating him until he feared he would lose honor and cry out with pain. Now he was tied, spread-eagled to the ground at the edge of the woods. And the forest that had once been his friend was now his foe. Night owls screeched deafeningly, wolves howled in the distance, incensed by the smell of human blood, and insects crawled over his injured body biting and sucking the life from him.

  Pain seared through Fox's limbs as he tried to clear his muddled brain. It was strange how once-familiar sounds could frighten a man so. Relaxing his strained, weary muscles, Tipaakke cursed himself for being so foolish as to allow himself to be captured. If he had been thinking clearly, he could easily have taken both of the Mohawk scouts, but instead, he had permitted his emotions to control him, and that was a near-fatal mistake.

  Shuddering, Tipaakke watched a woodland snake slither over his leg. It was not a poisonous one, not this time, at least. Staring up at the moon, Tipaakke wondered where Katelyn was right now. He wondered if she was safe in his wigwam, waiting for his return, or if she still in the forest, lost and confused, traveling in useless circles.

  Thoughts of Katelyn were what was keeping him alive now. If he chose to, he knew he could lay here and will himself to die. He had seen others do it. But he had promised Katelyn he would be there for her. He had promised he would be there for the child. Thoughts of his new son or daughter gave him the will to live, as well as thoughts of having Katelyn in his arms again.

  For hours at a time he lay there daydreaming, only semiconscious. He envisioned what it would be like to come home after a successful hunt and find her cooking the evening meal outside his wigwam. He imagined what it would be like to watch her feed the baby, its tiny mouth nuzzled to her full breast. He conjured up thoughts of her warm, pliant body pressed against his until he thought he would go mad. He had to live! He had so much to live for!

  A small dog yapped in the Mohawk village and Tipaakke cringed inwardly. Hadn't he had enough torture for one day? Who was coming now? Late into the evening, every woman and child in the village had passed by him, throwing sticks, heated stones, and pointed sticks. A dog had snapped and snarled at him, nipping viciously at his bare feet, and the onlookers had laughed with great amusement.

  Trying to twist his "head far enough to the side, Tipaakke watched one of the night sentries pass by the nearest fire. Something was not right. The air was tense, the crickets had taken on a deeper resonance. An unknown bird cackled in the trees, and Tipaakke shivered. He could hear odd movement in the village, sounds he should not have heard so late at night.

  Suddenly, the village was ablaze with fire. Arrows shot from the trees and men shouted a haunting war cry. Mohawks ran from their lodges, unclothed, their weapons in hand. Women screamed, running from their burning homes, dragging their frightened children behind them.

  Arrows dipped in pitch and lit on fire whizzed through the air and men ran to find cover. Tipaakke strained against his bindings trying to catch a glimpse of the men who attacked the village. Who would dare to enter Mohawk territory and attack a village? For years the Mohawks had reigned terror on other native Americans, ignoring old peace agreements and blood ties.

  Watching wom
en and children disappear into the forest, Tipaakke stared through the growing billows of smoke. A Huron? The attackers were Hurons! It was true that though they were cousins to the Mohawks, they had been at war with them for many years. But they were not a people who attacked unprovoked.

  Suddenly, Tipaakke began to struggle furiously against the ties that bound him to the stakes in the ground. This was his chance! If he could just get loose, he could escape into the forest in the midst of the commotion! Glancing back to be sure no one watch, he spotted one of the Hurons running from one burning lodge to the other. What was he doing? Then he spotted the prisoner, staked to the ground just outside the boundaries of the village.

  Tipaakke whispered words of prayer to the great Manito as the Huron neared him. He thanked his god for his life, regretting only that he would not live to witness the birth of his child. The Huron's face was hard and cold as he bent over the Fox, peering into jet-black eyes.

  Tipaakke blinked once, and then again. Did the moonlight play tricks on a doomed man? "Mekollaan?" His voice was barely a whisper.

  The Huron smiled. "Why do you not join in the attack, my cowardly brother?"

  "Have you moved north to become a Huron, or are you just visiting with them?" He spoke in their native tongue, the words tasting good on the end of his tongue.

  "Smart, no?" He tapped his temple with a finger. "Now our friends the Mohawks will not seek us out at our own village."

  "No, but some innocent Hurons will hear from them, I'm sure. Now are you going to release me?"

  Mekollaan laughed ignoring the pandemonium around him. He had found what he'd come looking for. "I don't know, foolish Fox," he knelt to cut the leather ties that bound his feet, "perhaps I should leave you here. At least then I would know where you are." He started on the other foot.

  "I am in no mood for your jokes, Hawk." Tipaakke flexed his leg, wincing.