Landing lightly on the palisade, he turned to look back in the window at her. The breeze on his back felt good. "This man does not expect this manake woman to understand. Only to accept what she is not capable of understanding."
"Oh, so now I'm stupid?"
"Good night, Mack-en-zie. Dream well. This man will." Already he was conjuring up memories of how she had danced with him tonight. They would lull him to sleep. "This man will come again another night if I can."
"Like hell!" she shouted after him in a harsh whisper. "You'll not find this window open again!"
Fire Dancer rappelled off the fort wall without making a sound. His feet hit the soft ground with a thump.
"And where you been, my friend? Surely not visiting my sister's mat, too?"
Fire Dancer recognized the voice immediately as his cousin's. Okonsa spoke in their native tongue.
"Cousin, you know I would not dishonor you in such a way." Fire Dancer pulled carefully on the rope until the hook came loose and tumbled down. "Little Weaver is a sister to me."
Okonsa laughed. "You forget she wishes for us to call her Mary. You forget she wears the stinking English clothes and does not bathe, as our mothers taught us. You forget she flirts with the white soldiers without shame on her face."
Fire Dancer coiled the rope around his arm. "She cares for the one called Allen."
"She cares for the baubles he gives her. She wants to be white and thinks he will make it so." He scowled. "As he could wash her of her red blood and the blood of her ancestors these three thousand winters."
Fire Dancer walked away from the fort wall. Okonsa followed.
"So tell this man," Okonsa continued. "Where have you been? Who do you seek behind the fort wall? Tell me not the white woman with the hair of fire."
Fire Dancer glared at his cousin.
"This man knew it." Okonsa cackled. "She is a fine bitch." He strutted, thrusting his hips and grasping the bulge of his loin cloth. "I would like to ride her as well."
Fire Dancer whipped around. "Do not go near her," he said with an edge of threat to his voice.
Okonsa took a step back. "You are very possessive, my cousin. She is white. She is nothing to us. Less than nothing. Bird crap on our feet. What does it matter to you?"
Fire Dancer tossed the rope onto the ground near the campfire. One of his men snored loudly. He could hear another vomiting. "This man warns you. Stay away from the one called Mack-en-zie."
"And what if she can not resist my charms?" Okonsa said in the native tongue of his Shawnee mother. "What if she prefers my grizzly rod to your squirrel?"
Fire Dancer turned on his cousin, losing his patience. "Did you hear this man?" He caught a fistful of his cousin's leather tunic. "Leave her be!"
Okonsa's black eyes met Fire Dancer's. "You claim her as yours, then?"
"I did not say that."
Okonsa nodded, as if all knowing. "This man will say no more of the matter."
Fire Dancer turned away. "This man must stand his watch. Get some sleep. We may be here longer than we expected, cousin. Still, the Frenchman does not come."
Okonsa ground the ball of his foot into the soft humus. "If you do not need me for a few days, cousin, I will take my men and go scouting."
Fire Dancer turned to his cousin. The dim moonlight fell across his face illuminating the silver nose ring. "Scouting for what?"
"Not really scouting." He picked the green tip of a twig and began cleaning his teeth. "One Ear and Battered Pot and some others, they grow bored. It would do them good to run, to hunt—"
"To find trouble?"
Okonsa gave Fire Dancer a look of complete innocence. "Cousin, you are forever distrustful of me and I know not why."
"You know why."
For a moment Okonsa could not look away. Then he tossed the twig. "Years ago. The past. Forgiven, forgotten."
"There have been other times, Okonsa. You and I do not hold the same standards. Your morals are not the same as those my mother, your mother's sister, taught us."
"I simply will not allow myself and those I care for to be trampled, to be dishonored . . . annihilated." This time it was he who turned away. "We will not be gone long. Two nights, perhaps three."
Fire Dancer watched his cousin strut away. Fire Dancer had considered leaving Okonsa home in the village where he would be less likely to cause trouble. But in the end, he'd brought him along, thinking it would be easier to keep an eye on him. Now he wondered if he had made the right decision.
Chapter Six
"Good morning, Father." Mackenzie walked into the officer's dining room. Her father was alone drinking a cup of tea and eating a thick slice of Mary's cornbread.
Outside, she could hear Harry shouting commands and the soldiers responding. She could hear their boots as they marched in six inches of mud, drilling as they did most mornings. Harry said it wasn't that they needed the practice, only that it was a way to diminish their boredom.
Mackenzie dropped her arm around her father's shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She slid into Harry's vacant chair at the end of the table.
"Morning, daughter. You are just the one I wanted to see."
"Uh oh, that means I'm in trouble, right?" Another chipped china cup rested on the table, probably meant for Harry. She poured herself some tea, using his cup. "When I was a little girl you always used that phrase when I was in trouble."
"You're not a little girl anymore, Mackenzie," he answered seriously. "But that doesn't mean I've given up my responsibility to keep you safe. You'll be mine to care for until, God willing, I place you in the safety of your husband's care. Even then, you'll still be my daughter."
She dropped a lump of brown sugar into her tea and stirred it with her father's spoon. She had known this was coming. "I think I already know what you're going to say."
"Good. Then this won't take long."
She tasted her tea. It was so bitter that she added more sugar. At home they always had sweet, thick cream for their tea, but of course there were no cows here in the middle of the wilderness. She took another sip of the tea, and satisfied, reached for a slice of cornbread. She glanced up at her father. "Well? Go ahead. I'm ready for my berating."
"There'll be no berating. We're not talking about a county fair horse race you entered under a boy's name, or giggling during services, Mackenzie. We're talking about your life."
She sighed. "It was stupid to go to the stream alone the other day. I know that now. It won't happen again. I'll get an escort next time."
"That wasn't what I wanted to discuss. I know you have enough wits about you not to go to the stream alone again. I'm talking about last night."
Last night? She was afraid to make eye-contact with her father. Did he know Fire Dancer had come to her room? Sweet heavens, a redman could be hanged for such an offense. She concentrated on crumbling her bread, and tried to sound casual. "Last night?"
"Dancing with that heathen!" He slapped his hand on the table and the sugar tin jumped. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself !"
She took a bite of the bread, relieved her father didn't know just how far she'd gone against propriety with the Indian. "The dance? It was all in fun, Papa. The man with the pipe was playing, so I danced. I've done the same a hundred times in your tavern. I've danced with men I didn't know while you played your fiddle."
"It's not the same thing and you damned well know it." Her father's eyes reflected fear more than anger.
"No?" she said softly.
"No! You danced with colonists in my tavern!"
She licked her index finger and used it to pick crumbs off the table. She licked the crumbs off her finger, taking her time to answer. Fire Dancer was like that. He took much longer to respond than was customary.
Franklin slurped his tea. "I take your silence as agreement that you erred in judgment."
She glanced at him over the rim of his tea cup. "It was completely innocent. He meant me no harm or disrespect."
&nbs
p; "You may think so, but . . ." His tone softened. "But, Mackenzie, you don't know men as I do. Men can be crude creatures of urges rather than wits. And neither of us knows what goes on in minds of their kind."
"Fire Dancer has never been anything but respectful to me. For heaven's sake, Father, he saved my life! I can at least dance with the man."
"I am forever grateful for what he did and I told him so, but I still want you to stay away from him. And I want someone else with you when you work on his portrait. Me or Josh, or Harry. You shouldn't be alone with a man like him. He's dangerous. Unpredictable. Even Harry says so."
Suddenly depressed, she brushed the crumbs off her skirt. She'd come to Fort Belvadere with such high hopes. Nothing was working out as she thought it would. "He won't sit for the portrait, so there's no need to worry on that."
"Good. That's even better. I want you to finish up Harry's as quickly as you can. Hopefully, DuBois will be here within the fortnight, but if he isn't—"
She felt a sudden sense of panic. "We're going home?"
"I think it's best. Harry doesn't know what's going on with DuBois. He sends word he's been delayed again, but he could be preparing to attack us, for all we know."
Her chair scraped against the plank floor as she stood up. "But he's part of the peace negotiations. A man of honor wouldn't do such a thing."
"You're right. It's all probably perfectly innocent. I'm certain he was held up in one of his forts in New York, just as he says. But Harry is uncomfortable, so I'm uncomfortable. That Huron who tried to attack you wasn't alone. There have to be others out there."
Mackenzie lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip of tea. She knew what her father said made sense. It probably would be best if she avoided Fire Dancer altogether since he wouldn't sit for his portrait. Period. The job would be over. Period. Her first job would be a failure. Period.
"Mackenzie," her father said softly.
She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. She knew he knew how important this commission had been to her.
He held out his hand to her. "I want to protect you. You're all I have in the world. You do understand, don't you?"
She took his hand and squeezed it. She did understand. Even though she wanted to do these portraits more than anything in the world, she knew that her father loved her and wanted what was best for her.
"All right, Papa." She kissed his rough hand. "I'll stay away from him."
"That's my girl." He rose from his chair and scooped up his leather cocked hat from the table. "I'm going to the stream to try my hand at fishing. Want to come?" He dropped the old hat onto his balding head. "Josh said he'd meet me there after he fed the oxen."
She rolled her eyes. "Josh."
"Mackenzie, I don't think you've really given him a chance. He's mad in love with you and he could take over the tavern and trading post when I get too old. He could care for you when I'm gone."
She groaned. "Please don't say that. I don't want to talk about it."
He turned toward the door. "Whether we talk about it or not, it's the truth. I'm nearly fifty-five, daughter, and I'm feeling my age in my bones. This trip made me realize that. I won't be here with you forever and these colonies are no place for a woman alone, especially with all the fighting. I'd feel better knowing Josh would be with you to care for you."
Mackenzie didn't answer. What was the point? As far as her father was concerned, a woman chose her husband by what he could provide. In her father's eyes, the fact that she could never love Joshua Watkins was inconsequential.
A few days later, late in the afternoon, Mackenzie wandered into the compound to find her father. She'd been working on Harry's portrait for hours. Past the point of actually needing him to sit, the portrait was coming together nicely. It was even better than she'd hoped, which, instead of encouraging her, frustrated her even more. A portrait of only one of the peace delegates was useless. Even if DuBois did arrive soon and she did finish his portrait, she still wouldn't have Fire Dancer's. Harry's superiors had specifically requested that the Indian Prince be included. Without it, she doubted they'd even pay her for the other two portraits.
Mackenzie rubbed her neck to relieve the tension as she made her way across the muddy yard toward the lean-to shed where her father locked up his supplies. Outside the door were stacks of wooden crates, some empty, some still containing goods he'd brought with him to sell. She spotted Tall Moccasin. He had taken to Franklin and could often be found nearby. Josh was there, too.
"Afternoon, Mackenzie." Josh swiped his hat off his head and nodded, trying to keep a bag of feed balanced on his shoulder at the same time. The Indian boy held a bag of equal size.
"Afternoon, Josh." She smiled and his face turned red with embarrassed delight. That was one of things she didn't like about him. He was like a puppy. She gave him the slightest encouragement and he was all excited. It was a smile, for bloody Mary's sake. She wasn't agreeing to wed or bed him.
"Well . . . I . . . . I'm off to feed the oxen. Your father's inside."
She nodded as he passed by with Tall Moccasin behind him, both headed toward the paddock. Tall Moccasin nodded his head in greeting and grinned.
"What are you doing, Father?" She peered into the lean-to.
"Taking inventory," he said from the shadows of the building. "We've done well. Damned well. I've sold all the sugar and salt. Most of the tobacco, whiskey and ale, too."
Mackenzie leaned her back against the rough wall and tipped her face up to the bright sun, closing her eyes. She knew she shouldn't be out without her bonnet. She freckled so easily. But, despite its heat, she always found something revitalizing about the sun.
She opened her eyes at the sound of someone approaching through the mud, half-hoping it was him . She'd wondered when Fire Dancer would show his face, after pulling that trick the other night. For three nights she had waited at her window to see if he would come—so she could turn him away, of course. So far, she'd not seen him.
She frowned as the ugly, strutting one, Okonsa, came into view. Even when Mackenzie found out that he was Mary's brother, she didn't like him any better. He had mean eyes. He was crude and disrespectful to women, not just to her, but to Mary as well.
"Greetings, woman of beauty."
Still resting her back against the log lean-to, Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest. "Can I help you?"
"This man thinks yes." His tone was suggestive as he crudely grabbed his man-parts.
This time, she didn't turn away. He did it to shock her and she knew it. What did she care if he liked to play with himself?
He chuckled at her lack of a reaction. "But this man come to barter with the father of the fire-haired woman. Later, you and Okonsa will talk of how you can help this man." He reached out to grasp a lock of her hair.
She jerked out of his way. It was different when Fire Dancer had touched her. He had never meant her any harm. She wasn't sure she could say the same about Okonsa.
"Father! You've got a customer." To busy herself while Okonsa was there, she lifted a quarter keg of ale onto her shoulder to carry it back into the lean-to. It wasn't heavy. She was used to hard work in her father's tavern.
Franklin Daniels appeared in the doorway, wearing a leather apron. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "What can I do for you?"
The Indian lowered his voice. "This man comes for colonist manake firewater. Whis-key."
Franklin frowned. "Sorry. Can't help you."
Mackenzie walked back out of the lean-to and lifted another quarter keg onto her shoulder.
"Can't or will not?" the Indian with the nose ring demanded.
"I won't sell you any more whiskey."
"You have the whiskey and you will not sell it to this man?" The Indian took a threatening step toward Mackenzie's father.
Franklin didn't back down. "Not after that incident the other night. Redmen don't take well to liquor. You know it. I know it. One of these soldiers could have been killed
in that brawl. One of your men could have been killed as well. It was a mistake for me to sell the whiskey to you in the first place."
"I have coin—English coin." Okonsa yanked a small red leather purse from the waist of his loinskin.
Mackenzie lowered the ale keg back to the ground. How curious it was that Okonsa carried a white woman's purse. It was dirty and stained, but very similar to the green one her father had bought for her last Christmas.
"I don't want your coin. I'll sell you tobacco. I have needles and cloth you can take back to your woman, but no whiskey." Franklin blocked the doorway, his legs spread wide. "I won't be responsible for any more fighting or injuries."
The Indian stared at her father with hatred in his eyes. "Do not make this mistake, white man." He shook his fist at him. "You do not want this man as enemy."
"You'll not threaten or bully me into changing my mind. I won't sell any more liquor to Indians. Not to your bunch, not to any others."
Okonsa's mouth twitched. He turned to Mackenzie. "Tell your father that he should sell whis-key to this man. There could come a time very soon when he might want this man for friend. To turn Okonsa away would be a great mistake."
Mackenzie lifted a brow. "He makes no mistake. He shouldn't sell you the whiskey. If it was mine, I wouldn't sell it to you, either. As for needing you as a friend, I think not."
He chuckled, speaking so softly that only she heard him. "Ah , you have fire in your heart. This man can see why a man would be attracted to you."
Mackenzie leaned over and lifted the keg onto her shoulder again. Was he referring to Fire Dancer or himself? Just the thought of this man touching her made her skin crawl. "Come on, Father," she said hurriedly. "Let's get this stuff inside and locked up before it grows dark. You never know what thieves lurk about."
Okonsa only laughed and walked away.
She turned her back on him as he strode away, not wanting to look at him another second. Inside the lean-to, she heaved a sigh of relief. "Good job, Papa." She patted her father on the shoulder. "You stood up to him. You were right not to sell him whiskey again. Fire Dancer says it's bad medicine for his people. Okonsa never should have bought the first bottle from you. It's against the law in his village."
Fire Dancer Page 7