Near the bank, Fire Dancer showed her how to catch minnows in her hands. He pointed out a turtle sleeping lazily on a warm rock in the sun on the far side of the stream. They kissed and laughed. They touched a little, but Fire Dancer seemed to understand her vulnerability. With some sense of honor she didn't comprehend, he took no advantage of her vulnerability, even though she half-hoped he would.
They must have swam for an hour, and then Mackenzie waded out and plopped herself in a sunny spot in the grass to dry her hair. She certainly couldn't go back to the fort looking like this.
Fire Dancer emerged behind her . . . naked as the day he was born.
Mackenzie's mouth dropped open. She should have looked away. But she couldn't. She knew full well what a man's parts looked like. It looked like something akin to a turtle without its shell, and she'd never found it particularly interesting before. But Fire Dancer's was the same bronze hue as the rest of his skin, and bigger than she'd expected.
He paid her no attention as she stared, but strode to where he had left his loin cloth and vest on a branch.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling that warmth between her legs again. The warmth spread and became something of an ache. Her desire was so strong for him that she could almost taste it. Strangely, Mackenzie felt enlightened. So was this how God had meant it to be between a man and woman.
He turned his back to her and retrieved his clothing, the muscles of his taut buttocks rippling as he stepped into the loin cloth and tied it on. She was disappointed that he had covered himself, but a little relieved as well.
He walked over to her and she laid back in the grass and closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun. She knew she left nothing to his imagination as to what her body looked like. The wet, white shift clung to every curve.
Fire Dancer tossed his knife on the grass and stretched out beside her. He turned his head so that she could see into his eyes. They kissed and she closed her eyes again. Every nerve ending in her body tingled. The nearness of him warmed her skin. She wanted to raise up on her elbow and kiss him again, but she didn't. She didn't because she was afraid she'd not be able to stop herself. She was afraid she would hand this savage heathen her maidenhead right here under the open sky. She was afraid she would enjoy every moment of it. Maybe that was what she wanted, all along, deep down, for him to take the initiative. Why else would she lie here nearly naked?
Fire Dancer slipped his arm under her and cradled her against him. She rested her cheek on his broad, still damp, shoulder. He laid his hand on her rib cage, but made no attempt to stroke her.
"This man knows what we both want, Mack-en-zie. But it would not be right. I have no right. I cannot take you as my wife. I cannot take you as my lover."
A strange sense of disappointment came upon Mackenzie and she closed her eyes, afraid she might tear up. What was wrong with her? Of course, he was right. They couldn't make love. What if she became with child? Not even Josh Watkins would take a woman tainted by an Indian's seed.
She snuggled against Fire Dancer, wishing somehow that things could be different. "You're right," she whispered when she trusted herself to think. "I want you. I can feel it from the tips of my toes." She wiggled her toes. "To the top of my head." She kept her eyes closed so that she wouldn't have to meet his gaze. "But her maidenhead is the only thing a woman has to give to her husband. I doubt that I will ever marry." Now that I have met you , she thought. "But if I do, I must have that gift to give my husband on our wedding night."
"This man understands the wisdom of your words." He kissed her again. It was a gentle kiss not of passion, but of understanding and respect.
"I'm tired," Mackenzie sighed. It was so comfortable here in the grass under the hot sun, with her Indian's arms wrapped around her. Before she realized it, Mackenzie drifted off to sleep.
"Mack-en-zie."
Mackenzie felt someone shake her.
"Mack-en-zie, you must wake."
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, disoriented. They were still on the stream bank, but the sun was lower in the sky. She must have fallen asleep.
Fire Dancer strode toward a tree to retrieve his vest and belt, his knife clutched in his hand. "Hurry. You must dress."
Mackenzie jumped up. Her shift was dry but wrinkled. Her hair was a mess of dry tangles. How long had she slept? She grabbed her skirt. "What's wrong?"
He strapped on his belt and pulled a knife the length of his forearm from its sheath. "The fort. Trouble . . ."
Chapter Ten
"What's going on?" Mackenzie burst into the dining hall that also served as Major Albertson's office. "They closed the gates! I had to call up to get someone to let me in." She pushed back a lock of hair. In a hurry to appear presentable, she'd pulled her tangled hair back with a ribbon and stuck her straw bonnet on top of her head. "Well, Harry?"
He was very pale, his skin like milk glass, his lips drawn in a thin line. He stared at something on the table, so preoccupied that he didn't appear to have heard her.
There were others in the room—her father and Joshua, Lieutenant Burrow, Mary's John, and a few she didn't know by name. There was also a very young soldier in a tattered, bloody uniform. He appeared as if he'd been fighting. They all stared at the object on the dining table that was covered with a stained Indian blanket.
Mackenzie studied the men in the room, then the bundle, then the men again. They were all pale. They acted as if they'd all just swallowed a crumb of spoiled meat and were about to be ill.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She could taste the metallic edge of fear in the air. Now she was afraid. "Papa?"
Franklin pointed to the door. "Joshua, take Mackenzie to her quarters. Now."
Joshua walked toward her, making a great effort to avoid the dining table.
Mackenzie stared at the blanket. It was stained with something dark. Blood?
"Papa, what is it?" When her father didn't answer her immediately, she turned to the major. "Harry? Please." She glanced back at bundle on the table. She couldn't take her eyes off it. "Papa? Someone, please tell me what's happened."
"Joshua!" Franklin snapped. "I said get her the hell out of here!"
Mackenzie had never seen her father so rattled. Sweat beaded on his balding head and his hand trembled as he motioned to Josh.
She pushed Joshua away as he grasped her arm. "I'm not leaving until someone tells me what the bloody hell is going on." She stepped toward the table. "And what pray tell is that?"
"Don't, Mackenzie." Her father spoke so softly that she stopped in mid-stride.
"Don't," echoed Harry.
"No," said another.
Mackenzie stared at the thing on the table. It was blood on the blanket. She saw it now. Perhaps she just imagined it, but she thought she could smell the sweet, sticky smell of it. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. There was the stench of something rancid in the air.
"Papa, please. I—"
The door swung open behind her. The solders saw who it was before she did and lifted their swords and muskets.
It was Fire Dancer, and she was glad to see him. Surely he would tell her what was happening.
"Where the futtering hell have you been?" Major Albertson's voice boomed as he crossed the plank floor.
Mackenzie didn't know what to do. Only she knew where he'd been. Only she knew what they had almost done. She felt no shame, or guilt, only apprehension for the man she feared she loved.
Fire Dancer's gaze met hers and she read his warning. Do not speak of what passed between us , his black eyes told her. Or we will both suffer the consequences .
She didn't speak. Instead, she leaped into action and stepped between her Shawnee brave and the major. "Just wait one minute. I was here first and I want to know what's going on. What in heaven's name is that on the table?"
Harry stared at Fire Dancer with a hatred that surprised her. "Ask the Indian why he'll not say where he's been."
Mackenzie turned sideways so that she cou
ld see both men. "Fire Dancer?" she said softly.
Fire Dancer stared at the Indian blanket on the table. When he moved toward it, the soldiers all tightened their grips on their weapons.
They were afraid of him. Why?
"Mackenzie!" Harry reached out to shield her eyes as Fire Dancer yanked the Indian blanket off the thing on the table.
Too late.
For a moment Mackenzie thought she would retch. Tears filled her eyes and she swallowed against the acidic bile that rose in her throat.
A head.
A decapitated head.
The fair-haired, blond-mustached thing was ghostly white and covered with bloody gore. She didn't recognize the face, but she feared she knew who it was.
She turned her back to it. She refused to swoon. This wasn't the time or the place to be a weak female.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Harry said, a gentleness in his voice.
For a second it seemed as if it was only the two of them in the room. Everything else was swirling around her. "DuBois?" She whispered, not trusting her voice yet.
"Aye." Harry sounded tired and old beyond his forty-odd years. "And I want to know why the hell this happened!" he shouted at Fire Dancer.
Mackenzie turned back, her aversion to the head not as strong as her desire to follow what was happening, and how Fire Dancer was involved. Obviously Harry thought her brave knew something.
Fire Dancer carefully covered the head with the blanket and made some kind of sign with his hand, whispering something in Shawnee. "The body must be found for proper burial."
In the midst of the horror, Mackenzie was touched by his respect for the dead.
"Did you hear me, redskin?" Harry confronted Fire Dancer. "I want to know how the hell this happened and what you had to do with it."
"You do not think I would do this, Major Albertson, man I call friend?" Fire Dancer's voice was strong and confident.
"What the Christ am I supposed to think?" Harry spat. "They were massacred. All of them. All of them, but that poor boy who had to witness it, and then carry the head. You know why he had to do it? Because if he didn't they said they'd find him and torture him to death."
Fire Dancer gazed at the young soldier in the bloody coat. He looked back at DuBois's head. "The blanket is Huron."
"It's Indian. That's what I know! You were gone all day. That's what I know. You had something to do with this outrage. That's what I know." Harry wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. "Seize him!"
Five or six of the officers vaulted to do their major's bidding. Fire Dancer dove for the door, but there were too many soldiers and they were on him in an instant. They hit him over the head with their musket butts and yanked his head by his hair. Fire Dancer fell to his knees under the attack.
"Wait! Wait!" Mackenzie screamed. She tried to reach Fire Dancer, but Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her back roughly.
"He didn't have anything to do with DuBois!" she shouted. She shoved Harry right back. "He couldn't have. He was with me."
"She's lying!" Burrows grabbed Fire Dancer's arms and jerked them behind him. He tied them together with leather straps.
Harry held her arms down at her sides so tightly that it hurt. "Stay out of this Mackenzie." He spoke through gritted teeth. "You'll not have your way on this one."
She struggled to escape Harry's iron grip. "You've got to listen to me. Where is that reason you pride yourself upon, Harry? He was with me. I swear it. Down by the stream. I can take you there and show you—"
"Franklin. Get your daughter out of here. The heat's gotten to her head. Get her out before she says something she'll regret."
"Let's go." Franklin grabbed both of her arms, his strength surprising. He had never been so rough with her.
Hot tears ran down Mackenzie's cheeks. A few hours ago she had been so happy. Life had been so perfect. "Please, Father. Listen to me."
"You can't defend the Indian at the sake of your reputation," Franklin snapped. He pushed her toward the door. "You can't lie for him."
"I'm not." She fought the sob that rose in her throat. She didn't know what had happened to DuBois or who had attacked his party, but she knew Fire Dancer had nothing to do with it. "Please listen to me. Harry's making a mistake. Fire Dancer wouldn't do that. He wouldn't murder a man in cold blood."
"Mackenzie!" Franklin shook her. "Shut your mouth."
When she refused to walk, her father half-carried her, half-dragged her out of the dining room. The last glance she caught of Fire Dancer was that of him on his knees, his head bowed. Blood gushed from a gash on his temple.
"Fire Dancer!" she cried. "I won't let them do this to you! I swear I won't."
"Go, Mack-en-zie," he called to her. "Do what your father wishes."
"Shut up!" Burrow kicked Fire Dancer in the stomach.
Mackenzie screamed.
"K daholel," she heard Fire Dancer say as her father dragged her from the room. "K daholel , Mack-en-zie."
"You can't do this to me, Papa!" Mackenzie stumbled as he pushed her into her room.
"Have you lost your mind?" her father ranted. His face was bright red. "Declaring such a thing in public! Do you want to ruin me as well as yourself? What man do you think would have you if he knew you had been alone with that savage? Even for a few moments?"
Tears ran down Mackenzie's face. She pushed herself off the plank floor with her palms. She was so afraid, so confused. "I don't want any other man," she whispered. "Only him."
"Tomorrow we leave this place." Franklin brushed back the thinning hair that fell forward over his forehead. He acted as if he had never heard her shocking declaration. "You've been here too long. I knew it wasn't a good idea. The sun and the isolation have touched your head."
"There's nothing wrong with my head, Father! I'm not lying to cover for him. We really were together. All afternoon. For hours."
"I don't want to hear it!" He threw up his hands and backed out of the room. "Tomorrow we leave this place. Tonight you stay here. I'm sorry, Mackenzie, but I'll have to bar the door from outside."
"Father!"
"It's the only way I can protect you. Josh will stand guard. If you need anything, he'll get it for you."
Mackenzie attempted to grab the knob, but her father slammed the door shut before she could reach it. "No!" she screamed furiously as she heard a loud thump hit the door. When she tried to open it, the knob turned, but the door wouldn't open. He'd blocked it with something.
"Father!" she screamed as she pounded on the door with her fists. "You can't do this to me! I can't believe you would do this!"
There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment and then she heard her father's voice again. He sounded as if he were crying. "I'm sorry, Mackenzie," he whispered. "I only do this because I . . . I . . ." Then she heard nothing but his footsteps as he walked away.
Mackenzie fought another sob of frustration, as she pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor in a flood of tears. She brought her hands to her face and she shook in fury. She had to stop Harry and the soldiers. She'd been at the fort long enough to know how the English dealt with the Indians. There would be no trial. They would hang him. And she wouldn't let that happen to Fire Dancer. She couldn't. She couldn't because she loved him. She knew that now.
Fire Dancer struggled toward consciousness. It was difficult, as if he was swimming through mud. All around him he felt an oppressive darkness. His head pounded so hard that his eyeballs ached. He could smell his own blood.
His thoughts drifted. He was probably going to die. He knew that. The soldiers would not seek out the Hurons who murdered their French major. The British army was terrified. He could see it in their eyes. He felt it in their arms and legs as they struck and kicked him.
They needed someone to blame for the murders of the Frenchmen . . . anyone. It was poor luck for Fire Dancer, nothing more nothing less. He was the best choice. He was the most likely culprit in their clouded eyes.
&
nbsp; A man never knew when his time to die would come, so he had to always be prepared. Fire Dancer felt his head roll as he fought to hold it upright. He was ready to die. At least he had been a few days ago, a few weeks ago . . . Now there was something that nagged at his resolve. Someone.
Mack-en-zie .
He wasn't ready to die because of Mackenzie. All along he had told himself that he would enjoy her company while he remained at the fort. When his duty to his people was done here, he would return home to them and leave the red-haired woman behind. But something had changed. When had it happened? His mind churned as he fought to recall the details.
When they had talked of making love this afternoon and agreed it was not right, he had still intended to return to the village alone. Now as he stood here, tied to a pole, he could think of nothing but her. When her gaze had met his in the English dining room, they had shone with a bright light. A light meant only for him. It was the light of love that he knew a man saw only once in his lifetime . . . if he was lucky.
That changed everything. It did not matter that he was Shawnee and she was colonial manake . It did not matter that his mother expected him to take Laughing Woman as his wife. What mattered was Mackenzie. How the great Tapalamawatah would resolve this, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was not his time to join with his ancestors in the heavens.
Fire Dancer attempted to open his eyes. He felt dizzy and light-headed. His entire body ached. He would have slumped forward, but the leather bindings that bit into his wrists and calves prevented it.
Mackenzie . He could not die and leave her. He would not. He had told her he loved her. He had called out the words in his native tongue. He remembered now. Then the soldiers had beat him . . . beat him until he succumbed to the pain and lost consciousness.
"Mack-en-zie . . ." He whispered her name on his split, blood-caked lips. "K dolholel , Mack-en-zie. This man loves you." Speaking the words aloud made him stronger.
He managed to open one eye. Then the other. It was dark and he was inside a small, enclosed building. It smelled of odd smells—sugar, tobacco, whiskey. Where was he?
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