Blackbird

by Henderson, Nancy

  Still, doubt crept into his soul. He did not want to be her captor. He wanted to be her lover. Perhaps he was incapable of keeping a woman by his side. Perhaps it was Hawenneyu’s will for him to be alone.

  He had to do something for her. Woo her, his brothers had told him. Adahya had never tried to win the affections of a woman, and he had no idea where to begin. He certainly had done nothing right where Song had been concerned.

  Resting his paddle across his lap, he reached out and touched Katherine’s shoulder. She jumped, and he drew back. “We will stop here.”

  He could not imagine why he had first thought her plain. Her hair was combed straight and tied back with a leather thong, and she wore the dress Star had given her. It fit her hips in all the right places, ending at mid-thigh and revealing slim, shapely legs.

  He could concentrate on nothing expect thoughts of touching those legs.

  Without tipping the canoe, he jumped into the frigid water, thankful for the cruel relief it gave his loins. He pulled the canoe onto shore, making certain to conceal it in a patch of swale grass. Slinging his pack basket over his shoulder, he reached for Katherine’s hand, and she hesitantly took it.

  “Step only on the ribs,” he instructed. “The birch will not take the weight.”

  Without word, she followed his instruction. He laced his fingers in hers, startled by how well they formed together. His eyes raked over her thighs again as she stepped from the canoe. Lust recoiled against him once more. This would be a long afternoon.

  He placed his hand on her elbow. “Come.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Some place sacred.”

  * * *

  KATHERINE dug in her heels, hesitant to follow. She stared at Adahya, at the copper gorget resting on his bare chest; a reminder that his loyalties lie with the British--the enemy. He was an enemy. And he was dangerous.

  She knew she should not trust him, that he only brought her here for one reason--the reason she dreaded and knew he expected from her.

  But something in her also wanted to see what he wished to show her. It was the same something that had pushed her into asking him so many intimate questions. The same something that had showed him a white woman’s kiss. She allowed him to lead her there.

  They started up a narrow path which led through dense, lush woodland. The June morning was already sultry, and the sun broke though the ancient pines in prominent golden beams. Gradually the path began to incline. Every now and then Adahya would stop and point out a landmark or an animal. A deer with twin spotted fawns scampered only yards away from them. He commented on each plant he spotted; what its use was and which ones to avoid because they were poisonous. Gradually, her anxiety began to lessen.

  The path inclined to a steeper grade for a few more yards then the trees opened to a meadow of lush field grass and wildflowers: daisies, black-eyed Susans, red and yellow paintbrushes. They had climbed higher than she expected and now stood on a precipice where the earth dropped far below them. A valley spanned for miles before her, and a range of mountains jutted up from the hazy distance, creating a spectacular view.

  “This must be where the eagles soar,” she breathed. All her life she had dreamed of doing more, seeing more. There was a big world out there, full of oceans and deserts and mountains, and she had seen none of it. Her life had always been small and sheltered and free of danger. Until now.

  Adahya stood so close she could feel his breath on her neck. It was soft and warm like the still breeze which gently blew her hair over her eyes. He pointed over her shoulder to the mountain range in the distance. “Those are the Adi-ron-dacks.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Yes. Last summer I traveled far past them to hunt moose with my brothers.”

  “What was it like?” She turned so that she was facing him.

  “Like it is here. The world is very beautiful everywhere, but you must first open your eyes to see it, Chogan.”

  He was looking at her mouth so intensely that she thought he would kiss her. Instead, he left her to gather firewood. She followed him to the edge of the trees and began picking up small branches for tinder.

  “It is in this place that I came to seek out my vision in order to become a man,” he told her as he gathered an armload of wood. “Only I was not a man. I was thirteen, and it was during the Blue Corn Moon. I did not find my vision. I was too cold.”

  He walked back to the meadow and tossed down the wood. Taking a piece of flint from his supplies, he struck it against the dry moss she had gathered.

  She sat down beside him and watched him work. Strangely, she no longer felt ill at ease. “What’s a vision?”

  “A vision is a journey. And the journey is much more than the vision. I did not find my vision until two more quests, but here, at this place, is where I knew that I must one day become a warrior to preserve the existence of my race.”

  Katherine pictured him as a boy sitting up here alone and freezing in the night air. She quickly calculated the sum in her head and realized she had been only five years old when he had found his life’s calling at thirteen. She secretly envied him for having the confidence to make his own decisions. She still did not know her place in this world. She had only come here to be with Joshua. It had not really been her desire to work in the mission.

  She studied this man who could bring such fear to her and yet treat her with such tenderness and respect. Only days ago, she had daydreamed of Joshua taking her virginity. Now it would undoubtedly be taken by this man who was probably not even fit to set foot in heaven. Perhaps it would not be so bad.

  She studied him as he stretched forward to place a piece of wood on the fire. His muscles were long and prominent like one would need if their life was devoted to fighting and killing. A circular scar marred his right side. The flesh was red and puckered around the edges, showing signs of cauterization. A less severe scar began about an inch from his ribcage and grazed down his hip where it disappeared under his breechclout. Both looked very recent.

  “Who shot you?”

  He looked at her, glanced down at his scars, and frowned. “Our raiding party blocked a Colonial powder shipment from Albany three moons ago.”

  In her mind’s eye, she pictured him attacking a company of Loyalists. Joshua’s documents were full of accounts like this. Colonists were being harassed up and down the valley by British allied Indians. Only a month ago, Joshua had been invited to the Tryon County Committee of Safety meeting in German Flats. Indian hostility was being riled by British Indian agents like John Butler making the entire colony a hot spot for Indian massacres.

  As hostile as Adahya’s people were, Katherine suddenly wondered if she were safer with them than with her own kind right now.

  “I defend my homeland and my race because it is what Hawenneyu has given me life for.” His tone was defensive, as if he expected a fight.

  “But those supplies were meant to keep settlers safe. You left innocent families defenseless.”

  “Defenseless so they would not attack our villages.”

  Katherine watched a tiny muscle tighten in his jaw. She had heard news of a woman in Cherry Valley whose family had been slaughtered in their beds by Mohawks. With a hatchet still embedded in her skull, the woman had crawled nearly two miles for help. Miraculously, she had survived, but her senses were left permanently damaged. Some had claimed the woman no longer knew her own mother.

  “You have to stop listening to Butler.” She raised her voice, unconcerned whether she made him angry.

  “Why? So more Colonials can take our homeland?”

  “Adahya, I have read the minutes of the Colonial militia meetings. We have asked your British agents to talk.”

  “It is too late for talk.”

  “Colonial officials have repeatedly asked Colonel Butler to form companies of his Tories and Indians and fight civilized.”

  “Civilized means you we must bow to the rules set forth by your Continental Congr
ess.”

  “Civilized means you do not kill women and children in their beds and sell their scalps for ransom!” she shot back.

  His stone-hard face twisted with equaled temper. “I was there at Johnson Hall when your officials met with Colonel Butler. Your Congress is unreasonable. They wish to regulate everything: the way we live, the way we fight. Their lust for control is why they cannot get along with their own king, and they must be stopped.”

  “Fort Stanwix will soon be reinforced by a seven-hundred-man garrison, and then you will all be stopped.”

  “Our raiding parties will be ready to stop them as soon as Colonel Butler gives word.” A chill hung on the edge of his words. His eyes were black and shining with indignation. “Hear my words, Chogan. I cannot and I will not turn my back on my people, my homeland, or my British brothers. When Butler gives word, I will follow him.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He looked as though he wanted to strike her. Few had ever argued with him, she sensed, and he did not take it lightly.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his determined gaze. “How many people have you killed?” His answer suddenly seemed very important to her.

  “War has its causalities.” He looked away and concentrated on stirring the fire until the sparks grew into glowing flames. “It is a part of life.”

  “How many?”

  He looked at her, raised his chin with an air of determination and arrogance. “I have sold scalps to the British in exchange for food to sustain my family for the winter. Does that satisfy you? I have also traded a ten-year-old boy to a French trader in exchange for a gun to defend my people’s homeland.” The firelight reflected in his eyes. “I have also seen your militiamen cut open the belly of a Seneca woman after the entire company raped her. Her breasts were removed and sewn into shot pouches. War makes demons of the best of us, even hypocrites like your coward Knox who hides behind his religion while he wages war against us.”

  He spat Joshua’s name like it were something disgusting upon his tongue. Her eyes suddenly stung with threatening tears, but she refused to cry. She would not cry.

  “Don’t bring Joshua into this.” Her voice wavered, and she fought to compose herself.

  “Then stop seeing me as a monster.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ADAHYA saw the anger and fear in Katherine’s eyes, and he looked away. He had scared her again, just what he had vowed not to do.

  He was a monster in her eyes. And he hated Knox more than ever now. He tried not to be jealous of Knox, but at times all he wanted to do was kill the man. Katherine was in love with this Joshua. He saw it in her eyes every time she spoke of him. He wondered again if she had given herself to Knox. She must have had some reason why she defended him so aggressively.

  He was tired. Tired of fighting with her. Tired of wishing things could be different with her. With the world. So tired.

  He kissed her then, and to his surprise, she did not strike him. Instead, a slow sigh escaped her, and she kissed him back. His moved his lips gently over hers, testing, seeking. She opened her mouth to him, taking him inside. He felt her hands upon his chest, then his shoulders, then around his neck. He pulled her close, slowly leaning into her until she was lying on her back in the tall grass. The wildflowers enveloped them as he pressed his body against the length of her.

  Months of shame suddenly melted away. If only Katherine would love him, give herself to him right here in the meadow without fear or restraint, she would erase the pain Song had left with him. She would ease the fear he felt so often because his future was so insecure.

  This white woman was so different from Song. Katherine stood for everything he was against, yet he wanted nothing more than to be with her, to have her see him as a man not a monster. If he could do that then everything would be all right. It would not matter what side of the war they were on or that his family hated her.

  With great restraint, he broke the kiss. She had come close to despising him today, and he could not risk going further. Still refusing to leave sanctuary of her arms, he lie against her and listened to the gentle breeze and forest birds around them. He buried his face in her neck, taking in the ever growing familiarity of her scent. One of her hands was still in his hair. The other stroked the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and sighed. Song had never touched him so tenderly. No one had.

  She could make him forget everything so easily. She could make the pain go away.

  * * *

  KATHERINE opened her eyes. Unconsciously, she had been winding her fingers through his hair and massaging the back of his neck. She had not noticed until now how heavy he was lying against her. She had forgotten that she hated him.

  Anger and confusion rose again as he rolled off her and pulled her back into a sitting position. Her god did not mean for her to lie with him. It was a sin in His eyes, she was sure of it. Nevertheless, she could not get the thought out of her head. She could just let this man make love to her here in the tall grass, in this beautiful sacred place, and no one would ever have to know. It would be something beautiful that she would keep forever in her heart, and when Joshua sought reason and admitted his love for her.

  Her thoughts shocked her. She did not know if Joshua would ever love her. Loneliness and homesickness, both familiar friends to her now, filled her heart. She looked at Adahya, suddenly afraid he had read her thoughts, but he was nonchalantly talking about taking her fishing.

  Loneliness quickly transformed to guilt. Adahya spoke as if she would always be a part of his life. She would escape first chance she got, and just like Song, she would be gone.

  Only she would be the one to leave him with hard feelings. Song had died, but Katherine would be leaving him of her own free will. She wondered if he would come to hate her or if her abandonment would hurt him more than Song’s death had. Adahya did not deserve that. He deserved a woman who would love and take care of him and give him children.

  But that woman was not her. Katherine belonged to another world. To another man. To Joshua.

  She listened to him tell her of his childhood, of his brothers and the short time they had spent with their father. Katherine recalled all the things she had lost: Mama, the mission, her friends Thomas and Robert. And Joshua. And now her freedom.

  If only she could convince Adahya to take her back to the mission to get her belongings. Joshua had to be back from Albany by now. He would save her from this Indian. He would kill Adahya, and she would be free.

  But would Joshua really save her? He did not even own a gun. And she really did not want Adahya to die.

  Katherine sighed. Her situation seemed hopeless. Still she had no choice but to try to persuade him into taking her back.

  He was untangling some sort of fishing net.

  “Adahya,” she interrupted his endless chattering about fishing. “I need to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to do something for me.” She paused, watching his expression. He raised an eyebrow, already skeptical. “I need you to take me back to the mission to--”

  “No!”

  “But just to--”

  “Your place is with me!”

  “You’re not listening to me!” she cut him off, feeling both weak and vulnerable against his anger. Tears of frustration threatened to spill.

  He gripped her shoulders hard enough to bruise. “Hear my words, Katherine. Your old life is dead now.”

  “I won’t listen to you!”

  “You belong to Adahya!”

  Katherine brought her hand hard across his face. He released her, and she stumbled to her feet. Not caring where she was going, just as long as it was far away from him, she ran into the woods. She ran fast. Faster. Faster until her lungs ached from want to rest. Until she could no longer hear him shouting her name. She stopped dead in her tracks.

  She had no idea what it was. But it was certainly something. But what?

  Only an ordinary tree stump, but a tomahawk had
been embedded into the center of it. In fact, it had been sunk into the stump so violently that the blade was completely buried in the tree. Black beads adorned the handle, along with six white feathers that floated in the gentle breeze. But the strangest thing was the color. Red paint had been poured over the entire hatchet. Even the feathers were bleeding with it.

  In front of the stump, two branches were stuck in the ground. Three strings of shells were suspended between them. Feathers also adorned this display.