By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  They walked together, hand in hand, back to the wigwam, letting the cool air dry their bodies. Kate built a fire and broiled the fish that Pride had cleaned and pegged to a hickory slab. She watched while he molded cornmeal and berries into flat cakes and laid them on a stone to bake.

  "You'll have to learn to cook, woman. You'll not always have me to do it for you."

  Kate mouthed a dare, and the corncakes burned to a crisp while they were lost in each other's embrace. They made love fiercely, possessively... and then a second time, in slow, gentle tenderness.

  "Maybe being a Shawnee isn't so bad," Kate admitted, stretching catlike. "I suppose we have to go outside and play Indian now."

  "No, we don't. We are supposed to make love for the next two weeks, nonstop. Someone will hunt for me, and someone will gather wood for you."

  "Two weeks?" Kate made a face. "I thought we'd be leaving for Ashton Hall today, or tomorrow at least." She sat up and wound the skirt around her. "Isn't there any top to this thing?"

  "No." Pride grinned. "And we're not going home, not for a while anyway. We're prisoners."

  "Prisoners?" Kate whirled on him. "What do you mean?"

  "I tried to convince the tribe not to go to war against the British. They didn't buy my argument. I'm accepted as a full member of the tribe; they'll honor my decision not to go to war with them. But they've got no intention of letting us go back to warn the Maryland colony or His Majesty's troops. We're virtual prisoners until the war is full-scale. Then, they'll only let me go if they're certain I won't fight against the Shawnee. We're in a touchy spot, Kate, and it can only get worse." He lay back, hands behind his head. "You may get your chance to learn Shawnee. With any luck, our first son may learn to speak the language."

  "This is another one of your tricks!"

  "I wish to hell it was."

  "Then we just sit here? And do nothing? While they plan a war against unsuspecting farmers?"

  "No. We don't. We figure out a way to escape, without hurting any Shawnee. These are my people, too, and yours." He reached above him to take down a leather pouch and removed a long-stemmed pipe and tobacco. "We can't give them any reason to be suspicious. We'll wait and watch for a chance." He got up, lit the pipe with a glowing coal from the fire, and took a large puff. A pungent odor filled the small hut. "We wait, Kate, until the time's right."

  "At least we won't be bored," she answered wryly.

  "I like you in that bit of a thing. In time you'll tan to a honey color all over. There'll be no need for me to waste money on gowns for you when we get back to Ashton." The dark eyes twinkled as he squatted Indian-fashion and enjoyed his pipe. He'd not bothered to don the loincloth.

  Kate blushed. "It's too warm for the dress inside. But I'll not take a step out of this house without a proper shirt. Find me some cloth, and I'll make something. I'll not expose myself for any buck who cares to stare."

  "Kate Ashton offering to sew? This is a morning to remember! "

  Kate Ashton, she thought. He'd called her Kate Ashton. She repeated the name in her mind and laughed out loud. "If I'm really your wife, I guess I'm Lady Ashton."

  "Aye, Katy. Cream will rise to the top. Although you'll find, in America, the title will win you few friends among the common folk. It's a different place and time. England's ways are not ours, and it's growing more so all the time."

  "Will we be wed in the church then, a Christian ceremony, Pride?" She was suddenly serious, her blue eyes large with concern. "I won't leave you. But... I would like a real wedding. Please."

  "You can have a Chinese wedding, if that would please you." He laid aside the pipe and drew her down into his lap. "Anything that will bind you closer to me, wench. Anything. For I mean to keep the highwayman I've captured." If I can, he thought.

  He kissed her, and she snuggled down against his chest happily. "A country parson will do fine," she whispered. "And I must have the shirt. I'll not add lewdness to my other sins."

  "In that case." Pride reached for a basket at the foot of the sleeping platform. "I might have something that would do in here." He drew out a fringed vest of spotted fawn-skin and slipped it around her shoulders. "You tie this and this," he explained. "I suppose it will have to do, though I prefer you without it."

  Kate fingered the soft leather with delight. The garment covered her breasts, leaving a wide expanse of bare skin between the bottom fringe and the top of her skirt. A design of green leaves and gold flowers bordered the edges of the vest, worked in tiny glass beads. "It's beautiful," she cried. "Thank you." She wished for a mirror to view the pagan outfit from every side. What would London think of her? No Saracen dancing girl would dare to appear in public in such scant attire!

  She remembered the red beads and silver earrings, and added them to the costume. "Well, what do you think?" she begged. "Am I Indian enough to suit you?"

  "I'm not sure," he growled. "Come a little closer. I need a better look." He lunged for Kate and she giggled and ducked away. He caught her and carried her to the bed. At least when she was in his arms, he was certain of where she was and what she was doing.

  "No more," she pleaded. "You're not a young man anymore. You must save your strength." He closed her laughing mouth with kisses.

  "Damnable wench," he grumbled. "We'll see who's too old for this sport!"

  * * *

  The first war party left the village three days later. Pride watched tight-lipped as Delaware and Shawnee warriors filed from the council circle. Their faces were painted, their weapons primed. He could not suppress a shudder at the thought of the bloodshed to come.

  Kate stood beside him silently her joy shattered. The sounds of the war dance had penetrated the thin walls of their wigwam, ending her idyllic dream and bringing her solidly back to earth. This was no game; it was war. People died in war. And suddenly, she realized there were people on both sides she cared about.

  The days that followed were ten se. Pride went out hunting with men too old to go to war. Kate was watched closely and not permitted to leave the village proper. At night, sentries guarded not only the camp but Kate's hut.

  "You could get away," Kate suggested, "and carry the warning to Annapolis."

  "By myself, but they'd kill you."

  She paled. "You said I was safe here, that they considered me one of the tribe." She offered him a gourd of water. "What else haven't you told me?"

  "You are Shawnee. And you're my wife. If I turn traitor, you suffer my punishment." He caught her chin and lifted it. "I never told you that you were safe here. The village could be attacked by the Iroquois, or by English troops, or by colonial militia. And if we are..." Pride's fingers tightened on her flesh and his eyes held her fast. "You run like hell! Don't try to fight, and don't try to tell them you're English. It won't do any good. If you're here, you're fair game for rape and murder. Run into the woods, find a thicket, and lie low, for days if you have to. Don't scream and don't make a sound."

  Kate's blue eyes narrowed. "I'm to fly off into the forest like a frightened quail. A Storm doesn't run, and I don't think an Ashton does either. If we're attacked, I'll fight... with anything I can. There are babies here and old people. What about Rainbow Girl? Am I supposed to scamper off and leave them to the Iroquois?" she scoffed.

  "Damn it, woman! You'll do as I say. You have no idea what you're talking about. An Iroquois warrior would make the Tyburn executioner look like an English nanny!"

  "The devil himself couldn't be any worse than Tschi, and he didn't scare me!" she lied. "I'll be damned if I'll play the coward and leave my friends to die."

  "An Indian camp doesn't stand and fight. This isn't a European battleground with troops lined up in even rows. The men will try to gain a little time for the women and children to run and hide. Even the small children know better than to cry out. For once in your life, listen to me!"

  "And what will you be doing if the camp's attacked?" She glared at him.

  Giving her a look of utter contempt, Pride go
t to his feet and left the hut. He didn't return until long past midnight.

  Kate pretended to be asleep as he climbed into bed. She wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. She lay there, staring into the dark, knowing how wrong she had been in questioning his bravery.

  Pride's hand touched her shoulder, and she turned toward him. "I was a fool," she whispered. "I didn't mean it when I—"

  He pulled her against him. "We're both on edge. I should have laughed instead of storming off. I don't want anything to happen to you. You're my wife, and I've put you in a situation of great danger. I can't even protect you. I owe you the apology, Kate."

  "I'm scared," she admitted. "And I took it out on you. We'll get out of this together."

  He kissed her. "Even when I'm furious at you, it's hard to stay away." His hands traveled down her arm. "I want to make love to you," he said hoarsely. "Now."

  A shrill cry brought Pride to his feet and scrambling for his weapons. Answering yells from the village and the barking of dogs added to the commotion. Kate grabbed for her clothing. "I don't think it's a raiding party," Pride said. "Wait here." He was out of the wigwam and gone.

  Tying the front of the vest, Kate ran after him, hesitating only long enough to pick up Pride's tomahawk.

  Two gunshots were heard, and then the welcome shout. "The war party! It's the war party returned."

  "What is it?" Kate demanded, coming up behind Pride. "What are they saying?"

  "It's our people. The war party's back," he translated. He frowned at her. "Don't you ever listen? I told you to stay put." He took the tomahawk from her hand. "Who did you intend to scalp with this? "

  Three warriors came along the path, then two more half-carrying a wounded man. A woman screamed and ran to him, her cries turning to moans as she saw the extent of his wound. Wabethe dashed past them, searching for her husband.

  The women and children crowded around, gratefully embracing their men and counting the missing and wounded. Kate saw Wabethe with her arm under a brave's shoulder. A half-grown boy led a horse with a body slung over the saddle. Unsoma cried out and fell to her knees, pounding the ground in her grief.

  "No prisoners," Pride said. "They met an Iroquois war party a day's march north. We have two dead, five wounded."

  "And the Iroquois?"

  "Six killed, that many wounded, but they got away. They also wounded a German that was traveling with the Iroquois. The Delaware took him to trade for one of their people the British took earlier."

  "I don't see any of them." Kate looked around. These braves all seemed to be Shawnee.

  "They joined up with a larger war band of Delaware from the Ohio country. They're going to hit the Lancaster Valley." Pride's face was hard. "There are a lot of isolated farms up there. Damn the British! Don't they realize what they've started?"

  "You' re British," she reminded him softly.

  He shook his head. "I was once. Now I'm Shawnee and American. And that's enough difference to try a man's soul." He walked her back to the wigwam. "Best you stay out of sight for the rest of the night. Tempers are high. You'll be safe in the house."

  "And you?"

  "I'll find out whatever I can. The sooner we get out of here, the better." His jawline tightened. "I'm worried about Ashton Hall and my mother."

  No one in the camp slept that night. Food was cooked for the returning warriors; groups gathered around fires to hear of the battle. From the doorway of the wigwam, Kate watched, sick at heart for the widows and fatherless children.

  She hadn't known the husband of Unsoma, but the woman had had more than enough tragedy in her short life. She didn't need to be left alone a second time. Kate could not shake the thought that it could easily be Pride who was killed. Already, he seemed the most important thing in her life. Fear grew within her until she could taste it.

  The following day, the tribe gathered their belongings in preparation to move. Men and women harvested the corn and squash. The pumpkins were not yet ripe. A party would come back for them in a few weeks, if it was safe. Now, it was urgent that the people move to their winter camp, a place more remote and easier to defend.

  The wigwams were closed and left. Kate looked back at hers as they marched away. It had been her first home as a wife, and she had grown fond of it. Shouldering her heavy pack, she fell into line behind Wabethe and her husband. The man's shoulder and arm were bandaged, but he seemed strong. Wabethe carried the baby on her back.

  Kate could see Pride striding along a dozen yards ahead. The bearskin was slung over his shoulder, and he carried his long rifle and weapons. They'd not been able to take all the bowls and baskets. Wabethe had shown her how to dig a hole in the floor to hide the items she couldn't carry.

  "In spring, we come back these field," Wabethe said sadly. "Maybe so. Good field."

  Among the warriors, Kate saw a familiar face. Tschi! He walked stiffly, his body unnaturally rigid, obviously in pain. Once, she saw him glaring at Pride. She shivered, despite the heat, remembering Pride's words. I should have killed him. Was it only anger speaking? Or...? She vowed to watch Tschi closely. He was not one to forget and forgive.

  That night, the women slept together. No fires were lit; the people ate cold food and drank warm water. There was no chance to speak with Pride alone. Wherever he went, Shawnee warriors kept close to his back. Kate was so worn out from the journey that she fell asleep almost at once.

  At dawn, they began the march again. The way was hilly, and the woods were thick. At mid-day, Kate offered to carry Wabethe's baby. She could see the weariness on her friend's face. The baby was heavier than she'd thought; she was more than happy when a halt was called two hours before sunset. Again, it was a cold camp.

  They reached the new site at mid-morning the following day. Giant oaks towered overhead, shading the remains of an old village. The clearing was sheltered by two rock-strewn hills and watered by a fast-running, white-foamed creek.

  The old bark was pulled away by eager hands. Women chattered excitedly and the children ran free. The feeling of strain that had permeated the journey was gone. Sentinels stood guard on the hilltops, and warriors accompanied the women who went to strip fresh bark from trees a distance away. Wabethe talked nonstop, and she and Kate worked to clean out a leaf-clogged hut.

  "Tonight you sleep here. Tomorrow we..." She shrugged. "Tomorrow Ki-te-hi's wigwam. You like sleep man again, ayi?"

  Kate nodded. It seemed like weeks since she and Pride had been alone together. Energetically, she dug at the debris, stooping to pick up a handful. A snake slithered away from the pile of leaves and she jumped back.

  A man's laughter brought crimson to her cheeks and she whirled to face him. "Tschi!"

  "So Panther Woman, you do not like snakes," he said softly. "I will remember." His eyes were shuttered glass, so black as to be almost lifeless. "My brother tells me you bade him save my life. It is good to know the love you have for me."

  Kate spat at his feet.

  Tschi laughed and turned away. "Walk softly, little sister," he warned. "And beware of snakes."

  Wabethe's eyes narrowed. "Tschi snake."

  "I agree."

  "You watch back." Wabethe's fist tightened. "No trust, ever."

  "No trust who?" Pride asked, catching Kate around the waist and swinging her above the ground.

  "Stop," Kate giggled. "Put me down. People are staring at us."

  He set her down and kissed the top of her head. "Who cares? Let them look."

  "No trust Tschi," Wabethe repeated.

  "Don't worry about him. His pride is hurt because I let him live, and because you prefer me over him. But he's my brother. He told me this morning that he was wrong. Tschi's hard, but he's my blood. You've nothing to fear from him, Ki-te-hi." He offered Wabethe a plump turkey hen. "For the evening meal, mother of my woman."

  Wabethe giggled and put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes sparkled as she reached for the bird. "No worry. I cook. Ki-te-hi no cook. Wabethe let her p
ull feather."

  "Thanks," Kate said. "Just what I've always wanted." She joined in the laughter, hiding her concern. Did Pride know his brother better than she did? Or was Tschi's hate the living thing she believed it to be? She couldn't argue with him in front of Wabethe. Later, when they were alone, she would tell him what Tschi had said. She would make him understand how real her fears were.

  By the following night, their wigwam was up. It was wonderful to have privacy again. They could lie in each other's arms and talk far into the night. And they could know the joy of one another. If she tried hard enough, Kate could almost recapture the dream.

  The days and nights fell into a routine. In the morning, Pride hunted with the men, and Kate learned the skills of an Indian wife from Wabethe and her friends. She began to understand more and more of the Shawnee tongue, although her attempts to speak it were met with gales of laughter. Tschi stayed away from her, and his threats faded into the background.

  A few trees began to turn color ; stray leaves drifted on the September wind. The days had dissolved into weeks, almost without Kate's realizing. Somehow, the upside-down world of the Shawnee had begun to seem normal. The time before... the time when she had not belonged to Pride Ashton, body and soul, seemed to belong to another century.

  There had been a sort of harvest dance that night, with feasting and games. The men had played at gambling and Wabethe had taught Kate the dance step. Even the children had stayed up late, marveling at Rainbow Girl's stories. Kate and Pride had been among the last to leave the dying camp fire for the snug privacy of their wigwam.

  A few words and kisses had sent Kate off to sleep. The day had been long, and she was content to cuddle close to Pride. "Night," she whispered.

  "Good night, little dancer."

  She didn't know how long she'd slept when a hand over her mouth and Pride's calm voice in her ear woke her to total blackness. "Shhh," he warned. "It's me. Don't make a sound. We're getting out of here tonight."