Black Eagle

by Karen Kay

  Black Eagle wasted no time. No sooner had the horse simmered down, than Black Eagle jumped off the animal, turned the reins over to Sarah and rushed back to Marisa.

  He knelt next to her, and though he said not a word to her, he ran his hands over her everywhere. It was nothing personal—he was merely checking for injuries—and Marisa understood this, yet she found herself basking beneath his touch, and despite the looks of the others, wishing for more.

  When he was satisfied there was no outward injury, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

  “A little.” She noted that her voice shook. Still, using her one good arm, she brought herself up off the ground, situating herself into a seated position. “I fell on my hip and my elbow.”

  “Can you move them?”

  “I’m not certain.” She raised her arm. It was sore and it hurt, but it seemed she could move it. “My arm appears to be all right. Can you help me to stand?”

  “Not yet. When you are ready, we will get up. For the moment, collect your breath.”

  She nodded. “I little understand what happened. One minute I was sitting safely astride my horse, the next I was falling. I hadn’t moved or done anything to cause it.”

  Black Eagle shook his head, but he was looking elsewhere, and when she followed his line of vision, she saw that he was staring at her saddle, frowning at it.

  “Lass, are ye well?” Big, sweaty and surly Thompson was trudging toward them. He was leading the packhorse behind him, but as soon as he saw her on the ground, he dropped its reins to rush toward her. “What has happened to ye?”

  He was the last person she wanted to see, yet she kept her voice civil, when she said, “My saddle would not hold me, and I fell.”

  “Yer saddle would not hold ye?” Thompson glanced around the clearing. His gaze alighted on something, and he strode toward the object, which was lying about thirty feet away from Marisa. “Is that the one?” he asked, pointing.

  Marisa looked up to see what he was referring to. “Yes, that’s my saddle.”

  Thompson squatted next to it, appearing to study it. He picked up the two leather straps that were used to buckle the saddle into place. They were clearly severed. “This be the problem, lass. ’Tis the fault of the leather cinches. They be old and insecure. This saddle should never have been used. Did ye check it?”

  “Well, no.” But Black Eagle had done so this morning. No, that wasn’t right. Hadn’t he’d said that her nag had already been saddled?

  Marisa turned her attention toward Black Eagle, who had come up to his feet during this exchange. There was a stoic look about him, and as though to further the impression, he said nothing.

  “Ye, Mohawk, come here,” demanded Thompson.

  Black Eagle remained where he was.

  Thompson ignored that fact. “Did ye check over the cinches?”

  Black Eagle nodded.

  Thompson stood, and he frowned as he took in Black Eagle’s measure. “This be yer fault, Mohawk, since it was yer duty to ensure the safety of these animals, as well as the quality of their equipment. Did I not hire ye to do this? Did I not make it plain to ye?”

  Black Eagle didn’t answer. Instead he glared at Thompson.

  “Do ye see this?” Thompson held the ends of the leather in his hand. “It be an accident waitin’ to happen. They be old and withered. By God, man. The lass could have been kilt dead.”

  Still Black Eagle said not a word. Nor did he flinch. He leaned calmly against his musket, which he had positioned on the ground next to him. His look at Thompson, however, was not pleasant.

  “Sir Eagle?” Marisa came up to her feet without assistance, though she noticed she couldn’t put her full weight on her hip. “Sir Eagle, you did check them, didn’t you?”

  Black Eagle nodded.

  “Then ye are clearly to blame,” spat Thompson. “Why, I ought to whip ye where ye stand—”

  “There will be no whipping of anyone on this trip. Not now, not ever,” said Marisa. “After all, little harm was done. I’ve had another adventure, but I am on my feet and ready to continue traveling, if it is possible to do so without a saddle.”

  “Ye, Mohawk! Gimme yer blanket for the lady!”

  Black Eagle faced Thompson, and the two men stood off against each other, staring at one another as a battle waged between them.

  Marisa, gazing alternately between the two men, said brightly, “Why, that’s a good idea. Sir Eagle, may I use your blanket for a saddle? The one that you are wearing draped against your shoulder?”

  Black Eagle didn’t answer. Nor did he argue. “You will not need it.” Marisa opened her mouth to speak, possibly to refute him, but it was unnecessary. Black Eagle went on to elaborate, “We will go no farther this day. Prepare to make camp.” Without awaiting a reply, he took up his musket, turned around and strode away.

  “Damn!” muttered Thompson. “It be the middle of the mornin’. Damn Mohawks. This be no place to make a camp.” As he leaned over to the side of the path, he spat on the ground.

  Gross as the action was, as was the man himself, Marisa hardly noticed. As she watched Black Eagle’s retreating back, she realized she hardly knew what to think. Old cinches could be dangerous, and Black Eagle was in charge of the horses and their equipment, but it didn’t ring true that he could be negligent. He seemed to be always aware and in command of himself and the world around him.

  Besides, hadn’t he said himself that he hadn’t saddled the horses this morning? Who had?

  Thompson? Sarah? But did that even matter if the cinches, themselves, were old and worn?

  It felt wrong to doubt Black Eagle’s competence. He was the man she loved, the man who had come to her defense three times already.

  But then, look at who was accusing whom. Something about this was wrong, but what that was, she didn’t know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was obvious to Black Eagle what had happened, and he was almost certain it had occurred this morning. Someone had saddled Miss Marisa’s mount, not out of a sense of duty or assistance, but rather with the hope of diverting his attention from a problem.

  Certainly, he had performed a routine check of the equipment, and it had appeared in good order. How the cinch had come apart when it had been perfect upon the morning’s inspection, was a mystery he intended to solve.

  There was one mistake he had made, however. In the confusion of calming Thompson’s mare Black Eagle had overlooked asking Sarah if she had saddled the animal. Clearly, this had been a mistake, for had he done so, he would have realized that she hadn’t accomplished it and that something else might be afoot.

  Of course, Black Eagle hadn’t expected to have to give the saddles undo attention. Hadn’t he observed their ill repair at the beginning of their trip? Hadn’t he demanded and received new saddles? Besides, he had scrutinized the saddle and its cinches that morning. There shouldn’t have been a problem.

  But there was.

  Briefly Black Eagle looked up from his work over the cinches to take note of his surroundings. He had positioned himself on a large, flat rock situated next to the Lake-That-Turns-To-Rapids, a body of water that skirted their camp. As he looked westward, across the cool, clear water, he reminded himself of the lake’s deceptive nature.

  The lake was aptly named. Farther to the west the pool made a sharp turn and began to flow downstream. From that moment on, the character of the water changed from one of calm negligence, to that of sharp rocks, waterfalls with white-crested waves, deep currents and eddies. It was known to his people as a watery grave, and thus it was a place to avoid, especially since here, a little farther to the east, was calmer water. A place made for easy crossings.

  He gazed across the water, his attention centered on the deep, dark forest that characterized this part of the country. It was a territory that bordered between Mohawk and Abenaki land, and si
nce it was positioned between the two warring tribes, the forest was not frequently used by either Mohawk or Abenaki hunting parties. Thus there would be weeds and undergrowth that would make their travel difficult.

  But it was still the best route to take, if they continued. He had hoped to discourage the women from leading their horses through such a place. But seeing their dependency on their trunks, which contained their dishes and clothing, he had abandoned that hope.

  Glancing back toward his work, he examined the cut leather. At least the damage was repairable, and he set himself to work. Gradually, the familiarity of the chore, as well as the calming sound of the water hitting the shoreline, allowed his mind to wander.

  Marisa’s screams from earlier in the day echoed in his memory. The sound had been heart-stopping, and taken as a whole, amidst the neighing and commotion of the horses, he had thought the women were under attack.

  And so they had been, but not from a wandering war party. No, the assault today was a thing more sinister. At least with a war party, one knew what he faced. Not so this enemy.

  The scene that had met Black Eagle had been a vision he didn’t want to relive, yet the memory kept replaying in his mind. There Marisa had been, huddled on the ground between two horses, one of them with its hooves raised high in the air, ready to trample her.

  Even now, he didn’t like to consider what might have been had he been a trifle late. But one thing was certain. What had happened this day was no accident. Though the leather had been cut to appear jagged and to give the impression that wear alone had severed it, it was evident to Black Eagle that these straps had been deliberately slashed after he had inspected them in the morning.

  These were the reasons he had issued the decision to make camp early. Not only did he require the daylight to inspect the damage done and to try to solve the question of what had happened, it would also be easier to mend the saddle in the light of day.

  As he continued his work, he noticed that the women had come to sit close by him, and he listened to them as they went about their chores. They were at present engaged in preparing the midday meal. Their feminine chatter was a familiar sound, and the background noise of their voices served to quiet his thoughts, at least a little. For a moment, he let his mind drift from what was really plaguing him, to the women. What would they say, what would they do, if he suggested they return to Albany?

  At present it seemed the only safe alternative for them, and he would put his concerns to them as soon as possible. To progress onward would be insane considering that this had been no accident.

  It was also evident to him that the culprit was Thompson. Who else could it be?

  What Black Eagle didn’t understand was why. Why was Thompson sabotaging their trip? As its master, wasn’t it his duty to ensure their safety? And if Thompson were guilty—and he had to be—was he not then capable of anything?

  Out of the corner of his eye, Black Eagle noted that the two women had ceased their work. Arising, Marisa stepped off in the direction of the horses, opposite him, perhaps to check their food supply, while the other woman, Miss Sarah, approached near to him, headed toward the water. As she came in closer, she hesitated, then stepped toward him. “Sir Eagle, is the saddle able to be repaired?”

  “It is,” he replied without looking up at her.

  “May I see it, please?”

  He nodded, and she strode toward him. Reaching out, she fingered the leather where it had split apart, then she set the pieces back on the ground. “Thank you,” she muttered, turning to leave.

  Because Black Eagle needed some hard questions answered, and since this woman might have knowledge of a few facts not evident to him, he asked, “Has Thompson a reason to seek vengeance on Ahweyoh?”

  “Ahweyoh?”

  “Miss Marisa. Has Thompson any reason to want her death?”

  “Thompson? Miss Marisa? Why no. Why do you ask?”

  Instead of answering her question, he asked another. “Are you certain there is no quarrel between her family and his?”

  “No, none.”

  “Has any blood been spilled between them?”

  “Of course not. Miss Marisa has led a sheltered life. In all her existence at the Rathburn estate, I am certain that she has rarely, if ever, spoken to the man.”

  Black Eagle nodded.

  “Sir, have you a reason to ask?”

  “I do.”

  “And that reason is?”

  Briefly, he glanced up toward the woman. “This…” he raised the leather, “…was no accident.”

  Sarah frowned. “Are you certain? It seems clearly evident to me that the leather is worn.”

  “So it would appear to the casual eye. But Ahweyoh’s and your saddle are new. Before we left, I ensured this myself.”

  Sarah paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “What you’re suggesting, sir, is that ’twas done deliberately?”

  In keeping with Mohawk tradition, Black Eagle took his time in replying, choosing his words with caution. Thus, when he spoke, he didn’t answer Sarah’s question. “In trying to understand a matter that is incomprehensible, it is ofttimes necessary to ask questions. It is not my intention to alarm you, but rather to obtain facts.”

  “But they barely know one another. Richard Thompson is a business acquaintance of John Rathburn, and John Rathburn is Miss Marisa’s guardian, as well as her step-uncle.”

  “Then Ahweyoh did not hire Thompson?”

  “I should say not. Such arrangements are carried on by the men of the family, and that man would be John Rathburn.”

  Black Eagle nodded, and believing their conversation was at an end, he mentally dismissed the woman and set back to work.

  However, it appeared that Sarah had further questions. “Sir, since Miss Marisa’s guardian is not here to put some pointed questions to you, I, too, feel it my duty to inquire after a matter of importance.”

  “I am listening,” he said, but he did not look up.

  “Sir, what are your intentions as regards Miss Marisa?”

  Raising his gaze, he acknowledged briefly the woman who was Ahweyoh’s companion. Then he again dropped his scrutiny, looking back toward his work. “It is my intention to guide both of you to a place of safety.”

  The woman cleared her throat. “May I speak bluntly?”

  “Please do.”

  “Sir, I know you have had relations with Miss Marisa.”

  Black Eagle did nothing to affirm the woman’s words, it being well-known that a man did not share information of this sort with another. However, it was a recognized fact that women often engaged in such confidences, so the fact that Sarah knew of their closeness was not surprising.

  “Sir, I would know if you intend to marry her.”

  He should have expected the inquiry, since the two women were fast friends. But he hadn’t. It caught him slightly off-guard, and he hesitated, knowing his answer was important. “Would you approve if I did?”

  “No, I would not, sir.”

  “Then you would approve if I did not intend marriage?”

  “No, I would not approve of that either, sir.”

  He was silent for a moment. “It would appear, then,” he stated flatly, “that there is no manner in which I can answer your question correctly.”

  “If I might continue to speak bluntly, sir, it is my fear that you could steal Miss Marisa’s heart, and because your intentions toward her may not be honorable, I beg you to let her be.”

  Black Eagle was silent. Indeed, at this moment he felt much like a young boy being scolded by his mother.

  “A mere dalliance can be forgiven,” said Sarah, “but you are different from any other man she has ever known. To her, you are a mystery, and one she might not be able to resist. Do not use her only to discard her.”

  Black Eagle paused for so l
ong that Miss Sarah took a step away.

  Black Eagle called, “A moment, please, before you leave.”

  Miss Sarah stopped and turned toward him.

  “Thank you for your words on Ahweyoh’s behalf. I appreciate what you say, and you are a good woman to protect the one who is in your care. I fear I have a question.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “If I were to ask Ahweyoh to marry me, would that set your mind at ease?”

  “No, sir. That would be a very bad idea. The English will not permit a marriage between the two of you.”

  Looking up fleetingly from his work, he said, “Why would the English not permit it?”

  Sarah glanced this way and that, looking anywhere but at him. “If you must know, though the English might make treaties with your people and hold to a covenant chain with them, the truth is that they consider the Indian, all Indians, beneath them.”

  Black Eagle might have been insulted by these words, but he wasn’t. Instead he nodded. “Ah, now I understand. On occasion my people also think in much the same way about the English. All I can promise you now is that I will consider all that you have said, and I thank you for caring for Ahweyoh.”

  Miss Sarah might have gone on to say more to him, but she hesitated, and when out of the corner of his eye, Black Hawk saw that Marisa had returned, he asked no further questions. He was not surprised then to see that after exhaling a heartfelt sigh, Sarah turned away. However, before she left, she voiced, “Please consider what I have said and think on it well.” Turning on her heel, she was gone.

  It was all very illuminating, and as Black Eagle gave his attention back to the leather cinches he was working over, he realized that outside of Sarah’s warnings and admonitions, there was one very important detail in their conversation: Thompson had no blood vengeance to account for his actions.

  If Ahweyoh had done him some wrong, then it would be easier to understand why Thompson might be attempting to kill her.

  But to seek to murder a person without some justifiable reason was insane, unless there was more here to be understood. To his way of thinking, he could imagine a few reasons to excuse murder. Blood revenge was one. But according to Sarah and Marisa, no such reason existed. Defending oneself or one’s family against an enemy was another. But Ahweyoh was hardly Thompson’s enemy.