"Do you hear yourself, Father? You sound just like them." She pointed at him. "We don't know if this horse is Major Albertson's or not."
"Mackenzie, I'm certain that Lieutenant Burrow has more experience with these matters than you or I do. He's lived in these woods. He's dealt with these hostiles."
"You always taught me to stand up for what I believe, Father." She stared him down. "I won't let them kill this boy for theft without a trial. We don't even know if that is the major's horse!"
She grabbed the Indian boy's hand and backed away while still remaining between him and the soldiers. "There's no reason why the lieutenant can't wait until we reach the fort to sort this matter out. Major Albertson can witness for himself if this is his horse. If so, than I agree the boy must be punished, but I doubt our friend would agree to hanging a child , Father."
Franklin studied her for a moment, then reluctantly turned to the lieutenant. "Ed, she's right. We'll be at the fort in a few hours. If he stole the horse, what's the difference if you hang him now, or at sunset?"
The soldiers waited for the officer to respond.
The lieutenant frowned, silent for a moment. "Cassidy," he shouted. "Tie the redskin up to your saddle. Let him trot a few hours. We'll give our major the satisfaction of hanging the little bastard himself." He walked away.
Mackenzie let out a sigh of relief. "They're not going to hang you," she told the boy quietly. "They're going to take you to the fort. Do you understand me?"
The soldier called Cassidy pulled the boy roughly to his feet and bound his hands together in front of him.
The boy looked at her, his ebony eyes filled with both fear and relief and gratitude. "My uncle will speak the truth. His horse. Gift from English manake soldier many moons. This man no take the horse."
She smiled grimly. "We'll get to the bottom of this, I swear we will." She gave Cassidy a rough push on the shoulder. "Easy there. That's tight enough. You'll cut the blood off to his hands if you make those knots any tighter."
"Mackenzie," Joshua called as he lead her horse toward her. "You'd best mount up." He kept his gaze lowered as if he were embarrassed by her forward behavior.
Not that she gave two snaps.
"I'm not riding." She snatched her hat up off the ground and beat off the leaves clinging to the straw.
"N . . . Not riding?"
She shook her head. "No. The boy walks. I walk. If I don't, you know they'll move too quickly. They'll be dragging him behind a horse in less than an hour's time." She walked away before he had time to think of an answer.
As she approached Fort Belvadere Mackenzie could smell raw sewage and unwashed bodies.
The fort itself seemed rather unimposing here in the middle of such a grand wilderness. The fifteen-foot palisade walls were cut from nearby gum and sassafras trees. As big around as a man's forearm, the tree trunks had been sunk into the ground with the bark still attached and sharpened to points on the top.
A lookout high on the wall cried a warning and the gates swung open to allow the group inside. Mackenzie walked beside the Indian boy, her eyes and mind taking in all she saw and smelled and heard.
Inside the walls, one large, two-story log building ran east to west, its rear wall attached to the palisade. Smaller, even cruder buildings were scattered in the muddy yard.
Men in red uniforms hurried back and forth through the filthy compound. Pigs and geese ran freely, turning the entire yard into a slop pit. She nearly gagged at the smell of refuse that was piled everywhere: rotten cabbage, rancid meat, bean shells—all just tossed into the yard on top of animal droppings. Yet she was fascinated at the same time.
Her father's tavern and trading post saw some activity during the traveling months, but there were never more than a dozen people there at a time. Here, there had to be nearly one hundred soldiers, all milling about, most appearing bored.
Mackenzie felt trapped as the gates of the fort swung shut behind them. She understood the walls were for protection against the warring Indians, but she wasn't sure they made her feel any safer.
"Franklin! You're here at last. Mackenzie, dear." Major Albertson rushed across the compound, his arms outstretched to hug her.
Instead of looking at the major's familiar face, her gaze was immediately drawn to the man who strode beside him.
A redman.
A savage.
The most glorious man she had ever laid eyes on.
Chapter Two
Major Albertson wrapped her in his arms in a bear hug, his full beard scratching her face as he kissed her. "You made it. I knew you would." He was a big man, as tall and wide as a doorway. His laughter was warm and genuine.
He and her father had been friends as boys living together on the Tidewater. As adults, they had gone their separate ways but stayed in touch. Franklin had built the tavern and trading post. Harry had bought himself a commission in the king's army.
Mackenzie lifted her arms automatically to her friend's embrace, but her thoughts were not on the major's welcome. She didn't know what it was about the Indian that mesmerized her so, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him.
Major Albertson released her and held out his hands to Franklin Daniels.
Mackenzie just stood there in the ankle-deep mud watching the Indian. He stared back with the darkest obsidian eyes she had ever seen. He made her feel self-conscious. Her appearance had never been of importance to her in the past, but suddenly she wished she weren't so dirty and travel-worn. She pushed back a lock of droopy hair, hoping she improved her appearance a little.
"Ah, Franklin. You did come with Mackenzie." Major Albertson shook her father's hands vigorously. "I knew you'd not be able to resist my invitation." The two friends embraced, and then the major stepped back. "I want to introduce to you one of our delegates."
Still, the Indian stared at her. Still, she stared back, taking in every ripple of the sun-bronzed muscles on his bare arms and legs. Sweet heavens, the man was nearly naked and not a bit ashamed. The setting sun sparkled off the ornamental copper bands that accentuated the girth of his biceps. His face was fine-lined, as if molded by a master potter, his skin the color of rich, red clay. His eyelids, fringed by black lashes never blinked. He had the most fascinating lips she had ever noticed on a man, thin and firm. Lips she imagined pressing against her own. What would they feel like? How would they taste? Mackenzie knew she blushed. She lowered her gaze, and focused on the men's conversation. Fire Dancer? Was that what the major had called the redman? She thought the major said he was an Indian prince or something.
The Indian dipped his noble chin in something akin to a nod to her father.
"And this is Mackenzie Daniels, his daughter," the major continued jovially.
Mackenzie didn't lift her torn skirts to curtsy as would have been proper. Instead, she nodded regally, imitating him.
She could have sworn she saw the barest smile cross his lips. Was he mocking her, or was he just amused?
"Major! I've a matter here that demands your attention." Lieutenant Burrow sloshed through the mud toward them, picking his way around a sow with a fetid cabbage in her mouth. Piglets squealed and scattered but for one that hung tightly to its mama's long teat.
"Lieutenant, can it not wait?" The major addressed his officer with good-natured impatience. "I'd like to offer my good friends a drink and a decent hot meal after their arduous journey."
"It cannot wait, sir, I assure you." The lieutenant planted himself before the major.
"Very well. Make it quick."
The lieutenant indicated the native boy with a nod of his chiseled chin. "We caught that redskin stealing your horse, sir. I intended to hang him there on the trail as a sign of our intolerance for thieves." He eyed Fire Dancer who stood silently beside the major. "But . . . but I thought better of it, sir, and decided to allow you the honors."
Mackenzie's eyes widened at the man's lie, but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for the major's response.
"St
ole my horse?"
"Aye, sir." The lieutenant flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his uniform coat. "But as I said, I've the culprit under custody."
"That boy stole my Johnny?" The major glanced over his shoulder at a private who stood behind him. He barely looked old enough to be off his mother's lead lines. "Somebody stole my horse and you didn't tell me, Private O'Donaho?"
The private immediately came to attention. "I . . . I didn't, I didn't know your Johnny was missing, Major."
"There's your stolen horse, sir." The lieutenant thrust out his chest. "Laden with Indian accouterments, but in good shape, nonetheless. We've returned him to the paddock."
"How the hell are we losing horses again with gates locked day and night?" The major pushed passed the lieutenant "This thief one of yours, Fire Dancer?" He took long strides toward the paddock intent on getting a better look at the horse and the boy who'd stolen it.
The Indian brushed past Mackenzie as he walked at the major's side. He passed so closely to her that she felt the warmth of his skin.
"This man knows the boy," said Fire Dancer. "He is not a thief."
Mackenzie followed Fire Dancer with her gaze, fascinated by the sound of his voice. It was smooth like honey and lilting, each syllable pronounced in slow, perfect English. Then he let out a string of gibberish, and the boy called back in the same tongue. It must have been their Indian language they spoke.
Mackenzie ran a couple steps to catch up with Major Albertson and Fire Dancer.
Her father called her name, warning her to stay out of it, but she pretended she didn't hear him. "I knew you would want to take care of this matter yourself, Harry," she said as she reached his side. "I didn't think you'd want a child hanged."
The major lifted a thick brow. "What made me guess you were somehow involved in this?"
She looked away quickly, feeling self-conscious as the Indian watched her. The lieutenant and the escort soldiers all followed her and the major and the Indian to the paddock near the entrance to the fort.
"There, there he is, sir. Sound and safe."
Major Albertson leaned on the split rail fence. "Where?"
"There, sir. Still wearing the trappings. I wanted you to see how the savage tried to disguise your mount. The little heathen has even painted pagan symbols on the hindquarters."
"Hell, that isn't my Johnny!" The major spun around. "Have you lost what little sense you possessed, Burrow?"
The lieutenant paled under his superior's gaze. "I . . . I was certain that was your horse. It . . . it's a roan gelding with a star on its forehead."
"And boots, for heaven's sake! Does my Johnny have white boots?"
"No, sir," said Private O'Donaho standing beside him.
"No sir, I guess not, sir," echoed the lieutenant.
Fire Dancer stood at the rail of the paddock. "My horse," he said quietly. "The boy is son to my sister. He is called Tall Moccasin. Tall Moccasin brings the horse to his uncle."
The major nodded toward the Indian boy bound at the hands and pinned between two redcoats. "That's your nephew?"
"Ah." Fire Dancer nodded.
"Ah," Mackenzie mimicked under her breath. She didn't know why, but she liked the sound of the word.
"Well, why the hell didn't you say so?"
"This man knows that all English manake suspect we sav ages." He emphasized the word with sarcasm. "I wanted you to see the truth for your own eyes."
The major gave a snort. "Don't just stand there," he shouted to the soldiers. "Let him the hell go!" He waved his hand impatiently. "Didn't you just hear our guest? It's Fire Dancer's horse!"
One of the soldiers hurriedly began to untie the boy.
"I apologize for the mistake," the lieutenant said. "I saw the redskin, and I knew he couldn't actually own a horse. I—"
Fire Dancer glared at the Lieutenant.
The major held up his hand to silence his officer. "If I were in your boots right now, Burrow, I think I'd shut my mouth. You're in deep enough horse crap as it is." He lowered his voice so that only the lieutenant and Mackenzie heard him. "You're lucky old Fire Dancer didn't scalp you right here. Now get out of my sight. I'll see you at Report tonight."
Fire Dancer turned and walked toward his nephew.
"I apologize, Fire Dancer," the major called after him. "You get these men barely weaned from their mama's tit and they want to make an impression on their superiors. Bring the boy to the evening meal, if you like. I want you both to be guests in my quarters for supper."
Fire Dancer nodded. His black hair, as long as Mackenzie's and tied in a queue, blew in the late afternoon breeze. "This man thanks you." The sarcasm was gone from his tone. "There are no bad feelings. I also have men who do not think with their heads."
"See you for supper, then," the major called. Then, turning his attention to Mackenzie, he took her hand. "Come on, girl. Let's see about that drink, you and I. Your father looks parched."
"You mean he looks mad." She dragged her gaze from the Indian as she and the major walked side by side through the mud and refuse of the fort yard. "He doesn't like me interfering in men's business. He's says I'm going to get myself injured or worse."
The major looked at her. "And your father's a wise man."
"Harry, I couldn't just let that lieutenant hang that boy." She raised her voice in anger at the thought of what could have happened. "It wasn't even a stolen horse."
"I know, I know." Harry patted her hand. "It was wrong for that young man to jump to conclusions, but you don't know the whole story here. You don't why they're all so scared, why we're all scared," he said cryptically. "Now smooth your dander. I was going to say your father is right, that you risk getting hurt, but I admire your grit." He smiled. "You're one ballsy woman. And I know you won't be offended by me saying so. That's why I knew this would be the perfect job for you."
She smiled. "The portraits. You want me to get started right away?" she said, so excited that she could barely contain herself. "Who will I be painting? You, of course. But who else?"
He laughed. "Let's get you settled in first. There'll be plenty of time tonight after supper or tomorrow to talk of business. There's your father now. Gads, who is that pale boy with him?"
Mackenzie couldn't resist a giggle. "That was to be my betrothed, Joshua Watkins."
"Was to be?" He raised eyebrows so bushy that they met as one in the middle of his forehead. "You turned him down?"
"It would never work. I don't want to marry Joshua, or any other man, for that matter."
Major Albertson chuckled. "Just wait, sweetheart. You've just not met the right man yet."
Her father approached them, interrupting their conversation. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had to see to my wagon. Josh got it stuck trying to move it." He shot an impatient glare in Mackenzie's direction. "I do apologize for my daughter's interference in your business."
The major waved his free hand. "No apologies necessary. I know her as well as you do. Now let Private O'Donaho take you to your quarters to get cleaned up. It isn't fancy, but it's a sight cleaner than this yard." He kicked a blackened potato with the toe of his boot. "You and the boy, Franklin, will be bunking with the officers because space is tight, but I had a nice corner storage room cleaned out for Mackenzie on the second floor. She'll be safe and well-guarded there. After you get settled in, we'll talk in my quarters. I got a hind of bear sizzling on the spit as we speak. The meat with a nice Madeira will make us all forget our troubles." He winked.
"Thank you," Mackenzie mouthed silently. And then she allowed her father and the private to lead her away.
The quarters Major Albertson provided for Mackenzie were more than adequate. The rustic room was small, perhaps eight feet by eight feet, the walls horizontal logs with the bark still on them. There was a narrow rope bed with a feather tick that would be perfectly comfortable once she added her mother's blue and white quilt. The room had no fireplace, but it was already warm enough that she wouldn't need one. A stump ser
ving as a table and a canvas camp stool occupied one corner. Iron nails had been pounded into one wall for her to hang her clothing. But the best thing about the room was its small window.
Mackenzie kneeled on her bed, pulled the iron pin on the shutter, and pushed it open. A warm breeze from the trees blew in, chasing away the stench of the fort. She pressed her face to the wooden bars, breathing deeply. The window faced west, giving her a view of the sun beginning to set over the treetops in a glorious ball of blazing red and yellow.
Mackenzie smiled to herself, bouncing up off the bed. This room would be ideal for her painting. She already knew where she would place her subjects—there, in the corner of the room, and here . . . here she would place her easel. She glanced at the window. The only problem would be whether or not she would have enough natural light. It was almost dusk now and already necessary to illuminate the room with several smelly, fat-back candles. She would have to wait until daylight to see how much sun filtered through the chinks in the log walls.
Someone tapped at the door and Mackenzie answered it. It was Private O'Donaho with her trunk.
"Just put it right there," she said as she held open the door.
The boy dropped the trunk beside the bed and made a hasty retreat to the doorway, obviously shy. "Will . . . will there be anything else, Miss?"
She followed him to the door. "It's Mackenzie. And, no. I don't need anything else. Thank you for bringing up my trunk."
"Your . . . your father says he'll have your painting supplies sent up whilst you're at supper." He stole a quick glance at her before returning his gaze to his boots. "I . . . I'll see to it myself, Miss . . . um . . . Mackenzie."
She smiled. "Thank you. It's Charlie, right?"
He scuffed his boot. "Private Charlie O'Donaho."
She rested her hand on the door, anxious to change out of her dirty travel clothes and get downstairs to the meal Major Albertson promised. She was looking forward to seeing the Indian again. "Well, thank you again."
"My . . . my pleasure." The private backed out of the room and closed her door behind him.
Mackenzie immediately went to the trunk. She hadn't brought many pieces of clothing with her, and what she had brought was rather utilitarian. As silly as it was, she wanted to look presentable tonight. She told herself it was because she had displeased her father today, and she knew how he appreciated it when she at least made an attempt to appear feminine. But she knew that wasn't the whole truth. What she really wanted was to look nice for him .
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