In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  The brave leaped off the girl and sprinted towards the clearing.

  Tipaakke swore softly under his breath as he spied the white man racing toward the wagon. The brave realized his concern for the girl had probably saved the dog's life. Irritated with himself, he set out after the man. What was this pale slip of a girl to him?

  Henry leaped into the wagon, ripping the reins from Jonathan's hands and slapping the leather sharply against the horses' flesh.

  "Masta Henry, Masta Henry! Mistress Katelyn! Where is Mistress Katelyn?" The servant held tightly to the buckboard as the horses bolted under the pain of the lash and took off.

  Horrified, Henry looked back over his shoulder to see an Indian gaining on them. The redskin was running at an unbelievable pace. A war cry rattled Henry's bones, and he soaked his breeches with urine.

  Jonathan grabbed for the reins Henry clutched in an inhuman grip. "Masta Henry! We cant's just leave Mistress Katelyn! What's wrong with you? Them savages will kill her for shore . . . or worse!"

  Henry gave the blackamoor a swift kick. Jonathan lost his balance and tumbled out of the careening wagon. He screamed as he fell, his skull cracking like a rotten melon.

  Katelyn lay in a ball in the tall grass too petrified to move. She knew she should be praying but no words came to mind. My God! He's leaving me! her mind screamed. She rolled over and forced herself to stand. Run! Run! Finally her limbs began to obey. She raced toward the road, her bonnet tumbling from her head, the bundle of wild flowers still clutched in her gloved hand.

  "Henry!" she screamed. "Wait for me!" She leaped over a stump and forced her way through a hedgerow that stood between her and the road. The prickly ash briars tore at her gown, ripping the blue brocade to shreds; the tree limbs tore at her hair. She tripped, falling onto the dirt road. Pain shot up her right leg as she looked up to see Jonathan tumbling from the speeding wagon. The blood from his head spewed in a thousand directions as Katelyn dropped her face into the dust, sobbing.

  She wasn't sure how long she lay there in the dirt . . . maybe only a minute, maybe hours. As she lay there unable to reason, unable to comprehend, she felt something strike her. At first it was just one pebble, then another. Slowly she raised her head, squinting into the bright sunlight.

  Standing before her, pelting small rocks, was Satan himself! She was sure of it. What other man could possibly be so magnificently wicked? Barely a breath taller than Katelyn, he seemed massive. Each muscle in his bronzed body was well defined, his shoulders square and broad. His hair, so black it seemed blue, was parted in the middle and hung to his shoulders. His eyes were two bits of black coal buried within a chiseled face. The only ornament the brave wore was one long, red fox tail dangling from his hair on the left side of his head.

  Katelyn gasped. The savage was practically naked! He wore only a bit of animal hide tied around his waist like an apron with a small pouch belted around his midsection.

  Tipaakke held out one copper hand. She grasped it, too frightened to do anything else. His strong grip pulled her to her feet.

  "Please don't hurt me," she begged. Henry was forgotten . . . her father forgotten. The entire first twenty-four years of her life suddenly ceased to exist. Above all, she realized she wanted to live.

  The redskin's top lip curled. "Opeek hokkuaa, where has your man gone? He's left you, the dog!" he snarled.

  Katelyn began to shake violently. She didn't understand a word of the gibberish.

  The Indian laughed deep in his throat. "I told you your man is a dog. He's worse than a dog. He's a coward. He is also a fool." His hand lifted to touch a lock of tangled hair. He had never felt hair so fine, so silky smooth. Catching himself he spat into the dirt. What was wrong with him? She was a white woman! "He was lucky he got away. He won't next time." His English was impeccable, though, he spoke in a sing-song manner, his words slightly accented.

  Katelyn stared into the black eyes in confusion. "You speak English?"

  "Are you touched, woman?" He tapped his temple with a finger. "Doesn't it sound like I speak English?" He hit her on the shoulder, practically knocking her over. "Buumska!" he shouted.

  Katelyn hesitated, then ran as fast as she could, his harsh laughter echoing behind her.

  Tipaakke was on her in an instant, shoving her to the ground and leaping on top of her. He held her hands down, forcing her to drop her buttercups. He leaned so close that Katelyn could feel his light breath on her cheek.

  "Let me go! You savage!" she screeched, kicking and twisting.

  "Listen to me," the Indian said in English. "I'll tell you once and only once. You do as I say and I'll not harm you. But cross me, and I'll kill you. You understand?"

  Katelyn was mesmerized by the raven black eyes. Yes, this is a man who could kill. She nodded her head weakly, turning her head away. He had an odd smell, not at all unpleasant, but one she didn't recognize. She trembled licking her lips in response to his nearness.

  Tipaakke hesitated before releasing the white girl. She smelled sweetly of wildflowers. The only white woman he'd encountered had been Quakers who had often reeked of uncleanliness. No, this feminine body beneath him was freshly bathed. He could feel her whisper-soft breasts beneath his chest heaving breathlessly. So soft, so inviting. He was tempted to bury his face in the rumpled tresses that framed her face and calm her beating heart with light kisses. What was it about this white girl that he found so desirable? Perhaps it was her magic-colored hair. A color he had never seen before. In the shade it was dark, brown, but in the sunlight, it exploded in fiery brilliance. Tipaakke suddenly jumped up, infuriated with himself. He was not a man who forced himself upon women. And certainly not white woman. This fox-haired beauty was going to be trouble!

  Katelyn pulled herself up and stumbled behind the brave. She had come to the Colonies to make a new life. She wasn't ready to die, not yet at least.

  Katelyn kneeled on the ground beside Jonathan, trying to pray for his soul. Tears streamed down her face, no words came to mind. The boy's skull was split across the forehead with bits of red and pink tumbling from within. She had never seen so much blood! With trembling fingers she pulled off one lace glove and then the other and used them to wipe Jonathan's bloody face. She used the gloves to push his eyelids shut.

  She dropped onto the side of the road where the servant's body lay. The sun was climbing higher in the sky; the heat seemed unbearable. She watched the four Indian braves as they stood together in the clearing, speaking their strange, soft language. She knew there was no sense in running, not while they were all watching her so closely. But she had to have a plan. She had to stay alive until Henry returned for her.

  Katelyn looked up in the direction of the Indians. They were all staring at her, their discussion heated. The tall brave with the spear shook his head and walked away. Something had been decided. The he-devil walked towards her, his stride long and fluid.

  "Come. We go."

  "No, please. Just leave me here. I won't tell where you've gone. Just let me stay."

  "Woman! I said come!" He pulled her up by the arm.

  "But . . . Jonathan. We can't just leave him like this." She pointed to the blackamoor's crumpled body.

  "What is he to you?"

  "Nothing," she spit. "He was my betrothed's servant. But he was a man. He must have a decent Christian burial."

  "You desecrate a sacred burial house and then ask that I bury one of yours?" Tipaakke raised one dark eyebrow. "I knew white women were stupid, but you . . . you . . . "

  "I didn't desecrate anything! I was picking flowers!" Katelyn took a step back, frightened by her own temerity. She was shouting at the redskin!

  "No, but your man did." His voice was low.

  "Tipaakke!" The tall brave shouted from within the hut Henry had entered.

  Tipaakke left Katelyn where she stood and crossed the clearing. He returned in a minute in a rage.

  "That fool has stolen a dead child's axe! I should kill you now!" He grabbed her by
the sleeve, pulling her close. "No." He spoke softly under his breath. "You're of no importance to him. That's obvious. But he'll pay. Somehow he'll pay." He yanked at her sleeve, pulling her along with him.

  "Please. Let me be," Katelyn pleaded.

  "Silence!" Tipaakke shoved her ahead of him.

  The three other braves joined them and silently they descended into the deep forest.

  The five walked for twenty minutes at a grueling pace before the one called Tipaakke stopped to speak to a brave with a large seashell dangling from his neck on a leather thong. He spoke a few words in his own tongue, and then the brave ran off in the direction they had come.

  "Where's he going?" Katelyn panted, trying desperately to keep up.

  "I said silence, woman. You are my prisoner. Prisoners don't ask questions. They do as they're told. Now keep up."

  She nodded, pulling her skirt up to keep from tripping. The beautiful blue brocade was in shreds. She wished she'd thought to pick up her hat from alongside the road. The sweat poured down her face in rivulets, pooling at her neckline. She pushed her sleeves up and ran to catch up with her captors. The trees shaded her from the direct sunlight, but the dense forest seemed like an oven.

  Tipaakke turned to see Katelyn struggling to keep up. He stopped and pulled out his knife.

  "Don't hurt me. I'll keep up," she entreated.

  "Stop whining." He thrust the knife into her sleeve.

  Katelyn cringed, faint with fear. She braced herself for the bite of the cold stone against her flesh. But to her relief, she only heard the sound of tearing cloth.

  Cutting the sleeves off the dress, Tipaakke reached down to saw at the skirt. He cut the brocade off just above the knees, enabling her to walk more easily.

  Katelyn breathed deeply as the first rush of cool air went up her skirt. It's the dress that's hot, not the woods, she thought as she pushed herself off the ground and fell in behind the Indians.

  Tipaakke returned the knife to its place in his loin cloth and left the girl to trail behind them. He had her word, he knew she wouldn't try to escape. He smiled inwardly, thinking of how beautifully childlike she was. He was sure she was at least twenty summers, yet she seemed so innocent. She was unlike any English he'd ever encountered.

  Katelyn walked, then ran, knowing she had to keep up. She had no idea how far they'd come, or in what direction. The towering trees all seemed alike; each stump and stream was like the next.

  She turned back as she heard someone coming from behind. For one fleeting moment she thought it might be Henry. Instead, it was the brave with the seashell around his neck who said nothing but joined the group, giving Tipaakke a nod.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they stopped at a stream. The braves knelt to drink and Katelyn did the same. She had never been so exhausted in her life. The water was ice cold and refreshing; she'd never tasted anything so good. After taking her fill, she sat down on a fallen log to catch her breath.

  The braves stood near the stream speaking quietly to one another, occasionally glancing at their captive.

  What? They think I'm going to escape? Katelyn swatted a mosquito on her calf. Are they crazy? Where do they think I'm going to go? I could never find my way out of these woods. Her shoulders slumped in discouragement. No, I'll never get away on my own. Besides, what if the attempt failed? She shuddered. That he-devil would kill her. Better to wait for Henry, she decided. He'll come for me. Or at least his father will. I've just got to keep myself alive until they come.

  She got up stiffly, pulled off her slippers and stepped into the stream. She attempted unsuccessfully to repin her hair. The long red-brown tresses had fallen from the neat knot and threatened to smother her in the humid heat.

  Tipaakke stood entranced as he watched the white girl smooth her unruly hair. Such magical hair! They needed to return to the village as soon as possible, but he knew she was exhausted. He hoped the cold water and rest would revive her.

  What is wrong with you? he asked himself, stepping into the water. Why should you be concerned with her comfort? "Come," he snapped. "Our village is not much farther. When we arrive you're to keep quiet and do exactly as I say . . . if you wish to remain alive." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Let's go. We've already wasted precious time!"

  "Father!" Henry leaped from the wagon before it came to a stop. "We've been attacked by Indians!"

  The elder Henry came running down the steps of brick farmhouse. "Indians? What are you talking about? Where's Katelyn? I sail two weeks before you, and you still manage to mess things up. Don't tell me she's changed her mind after all of this."

  "Indians! They've taken her! And Jonathan, too! Oh dear God!" He fell to the ground whimpering as he clutched the older man's booted feet.

  "What are you talking about? Get a hold of yourself and talk some sense!" He pulled his son up by the collar of his coat.

  "We . . . we were riding along in the wagon . . . took a different path than usual. We were attacked! They knocked Jonathan out of the wagon and took Katelyn. I only escaped because I was strong enough to fight off the leader. Oh, she's gone. My Katelyn, she's gone!"

  "You left her there? You fool!" Bullman wiped his brow. "Do you know where you were when you were attacked? We've got to get back there." He shook his son's sagging shoulders.

  "Yes . . . I think so. But what's the sense in it? She's gone!" He leaned against his father, sobbing.

  "Nonsense. We've at least got to retrieve the body. Now get in the house and change into riding clothes. I'll get some men together. Ye gads boy, you smell like you've pissed your pants!"

  Henry stumbled up the white brick steps and into the house. He went straight to his bedchamber above the parlor and slammed the door behind him.

  He saw no harm in changing the story a bit. Gads! By now the girl had been raped, tortured, and killed. And such a pity, she'd had such nice large breasts.

  He stripped off his breeches and reached under the goose down tick of the bed. He needed a stiff belt. He could have been killed! He took a swallow of the cloudy liquid, savoring its taste as it burned a trail down his throat. A knock came at the door.

  "Yes?" Henry answered weakly, shoving the bottle back under the tick.

  "May I come in, son?"

  "Just a minute." He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the stolen axe and shoved it under the tick with the bottle. "Come in," he called as he reached for clean breeches in a drawer.

  "I've sent Ryan over to White Oaks to get Glen Wright and some of his men. We'll be leaving shortly. Get moving. Every second counts if we're to try and save the girl."

  "She's gone. You know she is. You'll have to write the Reverend. I just couldn't." He sniffed convincingly.

  "How could you have let this happen? How could you have left her? Christ, she was the only girl in all of England who was willing to marry you!"

  "The filthy savages! They carried her off! What was I suppose to do? Get myself killed too? I knew I had to get back to you. I knew you were the only one who could help."

  "How many were there?"

  "Eight . . . ten maybe. Hell, I don't know! It all happened so fast. I thought you said the Indians around here were peaceful. I should've stayed in France where I was safe."

  "The Delawares are peaceful. They were Delawares, weren't they?"

  "They were Indians!"

  "Maybe Iroquois. That's all I can think of. Up north they've got some mean Indians. Call themselves Mohawks." The stout man leaned against the bedpost. "Delawares just don't attack. Don't have it in them. Not at least without good cause, they don't. Are you sure you didn't do anything to rile them?"

  "Of course not. Do you think me mad?" Henry pulled on a pair of heavy black boots and tucked his clean breeches into them.

  "Let's get going." The older man arose, running a tanned hand through greying hair. He'd made himself a rich man but the life of a tobacco farmer was awfully hard. He was beginning to have his doubts now as to whether he'd ever
make a farmer out of his son. He'd always known the boy's mother had had poor blood lines.

  "I'm ready." Henry pulled a rough linen shirt over his head and stepped in front of an ornate mirror he'd carried from France.

  "Stop preening yourself! That poor girl's probably dead and you're combing your hair. I swear, boy, I'm beginning to damned well doubt you could ever have sprung from my loins! Meet me outside in five minutes. Get something to eat from the kitchen and I'll get horses."

  "That's quite an ordeal you've been through, boy. Most don't survive an Indian attack to tell about it. Had a cousin in New York. His wife and six little ones were scalped." Glen Wright shifted in his saddle.

  "Guess I was lucky. Those red animals were wild. I'm not counting on finding Katelyn, not in one piece at least." He swung clumsily into the saddle and jerked the reins from the bondsman's hands.

  "All right, men," Squire Bullman called, leading his gelding from the barn. "Listen up."

  They were eleven men in all. Glen Wright had brought his brother Hoss and three bond servants as well as Dwayne Carson who had been visiting from Chestertown. Bullman was taking three Scotsmen, all bonded. They were rough men—farmers who had made their way in the Colonies by sweat and blood.

  "My guess is that we can make it back to the site before dusk. Let's hope they've left a good trail, or better yet, they're waiting for us. Let's go, men. Be sure your flintlocks are loaded. And let's pray they're alive and unhurt."

  Before they came into the clearing, Katelyn knew they were near the camp. She heard the sounds of dogs barking and children laughing.

  Tipaakke slowed down, allowing her to catch up. "Remember what I said, girl," he whispered in English.

  She nodded, swallowing thickly. Why is he warning me like this? Is this some cruel game? Is he protecting me now, only to torture me later?

  As they entered the village, all seemed to grow quiet. Even the small brown dogs ceased their yapping. Katelyn looked up to see dozens of pairs of coal black eyes staring at her.

  There were more small huts, like the ones she'd seen in the clearing, than she could count. The women all seemed to be going about their afternoon chores, some cooking on open fires, others feeding small children. They were all dressed in deer hides scraped free of hair and rubbed soft. The women wore short skirts much like the men's with nothing covering their brown breasts. She tried to look away, ashamed by such a display, but no matter where she turned she saw bare flesh. Katelyn was even further shocked to see that most of the children were completely naked save for moccasins.