Fire Dancer

by Colleen French

  His uncle was drying a hide of some sort over a small, open fire. But what kind of animal hide it was, Tall Moccasin couldn't tell. It wasn't squirrel or rabbit and it was too small to be deer or fox. The hide was thin and circular in shape. It looked as if it had been scraped, but there were still patches of dark, bristly hair.

  Okonsa had stretched the hides on circular hoops and placed the hoops on a rack above the fire.

  Tall Moccasin wrinkled his nose. It sure did stink. He guessed he should make his uncle aware of his presence. It was rude to sneak up on an adult. Uncle Fire Dancer had told him that time and time again. Even young bobcats did not sneak up on their family members.

  Tall Moccasin started to get to his feet when he heard Uncle Okonsa talking again . . . . Talking to himself in Shawnee.

  "Perfect . . . perfect. This man thanks you for your contribution to my English manake coat. It will be beautiful, the envy of the next great clan gathering, no?" He laughed that strange laugh and picked up one of the hoops that dried over the fire. He took a handful of what looked like bear grease and rubbed it on the skin.

  "This man is sorry he did not take some of your friends' as well," he said to the hide. "I could make a coat for my cousin Fire Dancer. But this man could not remain and fight once he lead the Hurons in. The Shawnee had to escape from the fort before you sent for reinforcements. It is like that in battle, isn't it?"

  Tall Moccasin's brow creased. What was his uncle talking about? Did he speak of the fighting at Fort Belvadere from where they had come? What did he mean, he lead the Hurons?

  The boy knew his uncle had been involved in the fighting. Once the Shawnee delegation was far enough from the fort to consider themselves safe, they had stopped and regrouped. Tall Moccasin had seen Uncle Fire Dancer corner his brother and ask Okonsa how he became involved in the fighting with the Hurons and the soldiers. Okonsa was supposed to be off hunting.

  Uncle Okonsa had said Fire Dancer was lucky he had appeared when he did, otherwise the Shawnee delegation might not have escaped.

  There had been so much confusion that night with the cannons booming and the crazy Hurons running everywhere, that Uncle Okonsa probably did have to fight to get away. But his uncle's words now did not sound like those of a man who had retreated from fighting. It sounded as if he had been in on the attack. But surely Uncle Okonsa would not have joined stinking Hurons to attack the fort.

  Okonsa returned the hoop to the drying rack and picked up another loose skin from the ground. This one had long hair on it . . . blond hair.

  Tall Moccasin felt a sudden chill. Hair? Blond hair . . . not fur? It couldn't be possible. Uncle Okonsa would not take a scalp. It was a barbaric practice and not permitted in their village. Such a desecration of a human body—even the enemy's body—was forbidden.

  And yet Tall Moccasin had learned to believe what he saw and smelled. He would have to tell Uncle Fire Dancer. He dropped flat on his belly. He was no longer the bobcat. He was just a scared Shawnee boy and he wanted his mother. He turned on his belly to slink away. His foot hit one of the pokeberry plants and a dove eating berries spooked and fluttered off.

  Tall Moccasin held his breath, fearing he had given away his hiding spot. He waited a long second and then another. With his back to his uncle he couldn't see where he was. Uncle Okonsa must not have noticed the dove. Tall Moccasin leaped to his feet to make his escape.

  A hand clamped down on his shoulder and the boy couldn't resist a cry of terror.

  "Spy," his uncle accused in their native tongue. "I will kill you for spying on me." He held a skinning knife to Tall Moccasin's throat, the same blade he had used to scrape blond hair from the scalp.

  "You took scalps!" Tall Moccasin accused, so frightened that he shook. "Our law does not allow you to take scalps. You have so many!"

  "Silence," Okonsa bellowed as he held Tall Moccasin by the neckline of his leather vest, the knife point still held to his Adam's apple. "You do not know what you speak of. I take no scalps."

  "Those . . . those are scalps with hair on them." Tall Moccasin's lower lip trembled. "This boy saw them with his own eyes."

  "This boy's eyes deceive him." Okonsa stared with a crazed wide-eyed glare. "Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Do you understand?"

  The tip of the knife nicked Tall Moccasin's throat and he felt the warm wetness of his own blood. "I do not understand. Let me go. Let me go to my uncle Fire Dancer." He struggled, truly afraid. Uncle Okonsa had gone mad or was possessed by some evil demon. Why else would he behave like this?

  Okonsa held tightly to his vest so that Tall Moccasin couldn't wiggle out of it. "You will not repeat what you thought you saw, because you are wrong. Do you hear me? My brother does not have time for a boy's foolish lies. If you tell such lies the flame-haired woman will not want me." He shook Tall Moccasin. "She wants me, you know. She is hot for this man."

  Tall Moccasin ceased to straggle. What was Uncle Okonsa saying? None of it made any sense. Surely he didn't think Tall Moccasin so stupid that he didn't know a human scalp when he saw one. He stared up at his uncle, unsure of what to do. He was too far from the village to call for help.

  "You will not speak of this incident, boy. Else it might be your scalp that is lost." His uncle raised the knife from his throat to Tall Moccasin's hairline.

  Suddenly it became clear to Tall Moccasin. His uncle was saying "Tell and die."

  Tall Moccasin began to shake all over. "Yes, Uncle," he whispered.

  Okonsa lowered the knife and smiled. "That is a good boy. Now go back to your mama. Soon it will be dark and the families will gather. We have been summoned by our holy man."

  The moment Okonsa let go of Tall Moccasin's vest, the boy dropped and rolled. He hit the grass and came up running. He ran until his lungs were bursting, until he smelled the smoke of his mother's cookfire.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mackenzie sat on the edge of the sleeping platform and combed out her hair with a brush made of porcupine needles. The brush was a gift from Laughing Woman, as was the dress she wore.

  Mackenzie stopped brushing her damp hair to finger the fringe of the leather dress. It was a long-sleeved sheath made of soft, white doeskin with fringe hanging off the shoulder seams and hem. There were tiny sea shells tied on the ends of the fringe that made a chiming sound when she walked. There were matching leggings for colder weather, Laughing Woman had explained. Those were folded neatly and placed in a basket beneath Fire Dancer's sleeping platform.

  Laughing Woman had taken Mackenzie with her and her toddlers to pick berries after Mackenzie had finished her breakfast. Then she had taken her to a bathing area at the stream nearby where they had joined other women and children. Despite the language barrier and Mackenzie's apprehension concerning her position in the village, it had been an enjoyable afternoon. The children were curious. The women were friendly.

  Mackenzie met Fire Dancer's sister Bird Song, Tall Mocca sin's mother, and several pretty cousins. Bird Song had made a point, in broken English, to thank Mackenzie for saving her son's life from the soldiers at Fort Belvadere. The afternoon had ended with all of the women bathing naked in the stream and washing each other's hair. Laughing Woman had made Mackenzie a gift of the white dress after the women had returned to the village, damp and wrapped in soft leather hides.

  Mackenzie resumed brushing her hair. It was late afternoon now, and she'd not seen Fire Dancer all day. He had said they would see the holy man at dusk. The waiting was beginning to wear on her nerves. What possible way would the holy man punish her for painting Fire Dancer? Would she be whipped? Tied to a pole and starved? Would they try to burn her at the stake?

  Mackenzie had seriously considered attempting to escape, but Fire Dancer had not exaggerated when he said there were numerous guards along the perimeter of the village. Mackenzie had spotted at least four braves patrolling only an hour ago when she'd returned from the stream. Okonsa had been one of them. She guessed there were more guards that she couldn't see.
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br />   And if she did run, where would she go? She knew which way was east and west, but because she'd been unconscious when Fire Dancer brought her here, she had no idea in what direction the village lay in relation to the fort.

  Her instinct told her that this was not the time to attempt an escape, not when Fire Dancer expected it. Besides, surely her father was searching for her. Mackenzie knew Major Albertson didn't know where the village was, but perhaps if they searched long and hard enough they would find her. Then it wouldn't be up to the holy man or Fire Dancer what became of her.

  She glanced up at the portrait of Fire Dancer hanging high above her head in the rafters of the wigwam. He still appeared as handsome to her as he had the first day she'd met him in Fort Belvadere's muddy yard. In truth, he was even more handsome, now that she knew him . . . now that she loved him.

  Despite her fear and confusion, she knew she did love him. The realization had come the night he'd climbed through her window, beaten and battered by the soldiers. The night they had first made love. She sighed. When she thought back over the events that had led to their lovemaking, she had to wonder if she had always loved him.

  Because of the love they shared, she knew in her heart that he wouldn't allow anyone to harm her, even if he didn't realize it. She studied the portrait. His black eyes, a difficult feature to capture in any model, were perfect, alive with his strength and depth of character. She wished he was here now, to hold her hand, to calm her fears.

  She glanced up at the sound of someone entering Fire Dancer's wigwam. The last of daylight spilled into the wigwam. It was him. Once again, he knew when she needed him most.

  Feeling the need to occupy her hands, she picked up her brush and began to run it through her long hair.

  "Mack-en-zie, this man's sees that Laughing Woman has taken good care of you." He let the flap fall and it was once again semi-dark. The only light that illuminated the wigwam came from the hole in the ceiling.

  "She . . . yes." Mackenzie didn't know what to say to him. Did she declare her undying love or tell him how furious she was that he had put her in this position? A part of her wanted to scream and pound him with her fists. A part of her wanted to run into his arms.

  Fire Dancer shimmied up the center support post, grabbed his portrait, and brought it down with him.

  "We bathed in the stream," she finished lamely as she watched him. "She gave me this beautiful dress."

  Fire Dancer set the portrait by the doorway and approached her. "This man must speak to you before we meet with the holy man. There is something I must tell you." He pulled a pair of moccasins from the waistband of his loin skin and placed them on the sleeping platform beside her. His gaze fixed on her, he clasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. He had an odd, almost guilty, look on his face. Then his gaze swept over her garb and his expression changed to one of concern.

  "What?" The seashells on the leather fringe rang like tiny silver bells. "You don't like the dress on me?"

  "Mahtah . It is not that." He still held her hand tightly. "The dress is beautiful. You are beautiful, only . . ."

  "Only what?"

  "It is a garment for special occasions. Laughing Woman should not have given you her special dress."

  "What kind of special occasions do you mean?" She stood in front of him. It seemed only natural that she place her hand on the bare spot at the opening of his porcupine-quilled vest.

  "Weddings, naming ceremonies . . . funerals."

  Mackenzie took in a sharp breath. Was that fear she heard in Fire Dancer's voice? "He . . . Snake Man, he wouldn't really try to have me—"

  Fire Dancer pressed his finger to her lips silencing her. "Do not speak of it. It would be bad luck so close to dusk and the time we must face our holy man."

  "But he's not my holy man," she protested firmly. "I asked for no part of this." Then her gaze met his and she knew what he was thinking. "Until I painted your portrait."

  "Ah."

  "Ah," she whispered.

  He rested his hands on her waist and stared directly into her eyes. Mackenzie brushed her palm across his bare chest beneath the leather vest and a trill of excitement pulsed through her veins. Her head was filled with images of Fire Dancer touching her, kissing her. In reaction, her breasts tingled and her nipples grew hard beneath the doeskin. She knew she was mad to think of such things. What kind of wanton woman was she that someone might hand down a death sentence to her and all she could think of was lying with a savage?

  She felt another shiver of pleasure as Fire Dancer brushed the nape of her neck with his hand. When he leaned to take her mouth with his, she put up no resistance.

  "No matter what happens," he whispered. "This man will love you until the sands of time run out."

  Mackenzie sighed. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. She slipped her hands around his neck and kissed him again. "How did this happen?" she murmured.

  He touched her, his hand skimming over the doeskin dress, sending waves of pleasure through her. "This man does not know. I did not intend to love you or to take your body."

  She leaned her head back so that he could kiss the pulse of her throat. "You did not take me. I gave myself freely because . . ." She didn't know why it was so hard to say. "Because I love you, Fire Dancer."

  He smiled. "Those are words that fill this man with hope." He sat down on the edge of the sleeping platform and pulled her onto his lap. "Though for what, I do not know. I do not know what path has been chosen for us."

  Mackenzie didn't know anything about fate. She didn't even know if she believed in it. She couldn't think about it now. Her thoughts were too jumbled, her emotions too overwrought. What seemed to matter at this moment was Fire Dancer and her love for him, no matter what was about to happen.

  She sat on his lap facing him, her legs straddling him. Outside, someone began to beat a drum, the rhythm so slow that each beat seemed to be the last. Just when she didn't expect another, it came. The anticipation made her breathless. "Do . . . do we have to go soon?"

  "Ah." He took a handful of her hair, brought it to his nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her. "The holy man instructs that you and I must come together and bring the portrait. The entire village will join us along with our chief. We will meet at the center village fire as the sun sets over the tree tops."

  His whispered words sent shivers down her spine. She was afraid. Perhaps it was her fear that heightened every sensation she felt. Each time he touched her she trembled.

  She brushed her lips against his smooth cheek, upward to the lobe of his ear. "How soon?"

  His mouth touched her cheek. "Soon."

  Without realizing it, Mackenzie ground her hips against his. The bulge of his loincloth felt so good against her groin. "So soon that we could not . . ." Not knowing a word to use, she let her voice fade.

  He chuckled huskily, drawing her closely, lifting beneath her. It was so dark inside the wigwam now that she could only see the outline of his face. "You would have this man after what he has done to you?"

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth. "Call me mad as May butter," she breathed, raggedly. "It's all I can think of."

  He caught the hem of the precious white dress and lifted it so that it bunched around her waist. The air felt cool on her bare buttocks.

  She moaned as he crushed his mouth hard against hers. He caressed her bare bottom with his hands and kneaded the sensitive flesh. Her tongue twisted with his in a slow, delicious dance of love and lust.

  Did she dare make love with Fire Dancer here in the middle of his village? Outside the cornhusk walls she could hear the drum pounding; she could hear men and women's voices and the sounds of their moccasined feet as they passed. They were headed toward the central campfire . . . waiting for her and for Fire Dancer.

  Mackenzie's heart pounded. Her breath came in short gasps as she caught the feminine scent of her desire for Fire Dancer.

  S
he wanted him. It made no sense, but she wanted him, anyway.

  She ground her hips against his. Boldly she reached down to untie his loincloth.

  As her fingers found the warm, hardening flesh of his manhood, she wondered wildly if there was some truth to the concept of possession of the soul. Only it was Mackenzie that felt as if she was possessed by his man, and not the other way around.

  "Mack-en-zie . . ." He groaned in her ear and gripped her hips tighter.

  She felt the length of his shaft in her hand and marveled at the delicate softness of his skin and the pleasure he found in her touch. The notion that she could give as much pleasure to him as he had given to her excited her.

  He buried his face between her breasts. Through the doeskin she felt her nipples puckering with pleasure. He tugged on the leather ties at the neckline and the dress fell open to her waist. She sighed with pleasure as he slipped his hand inside the dress and cupped her bare breast.

  She stroked him again and again and he grew longer . . . thicker in her hand.

  "Mack-en-zie . . . Mack-en-zie," he murmured as he chafed her nipple with the pad of his thumb. "You truly do possess me, woman of my heart."

  She smiled at his sweet words. It was completely dark in the wigwam now. The last rays of the sun no longer shone through the hole in the roof. Surely it was time they joined the others, yet joining here in the darkness was all she could think of.

  Mackenzie's breath came in short pants. The beat of the drum was faster now, pounding urgently in her ears. Her heartbeat matched the rhythm. All she could think of was her compelling need to feel him inside her. She attempted to slide off his lap to lie on the bed, but he stopped her.

  "Mahtah," he crooned. "Do not leave me in such need. Sit here, kitehi. "

  Her eyes widened. "Here?" she whispered.

  "Ah . There are many ways for a man and woman to share their love. This man will show you. It will be pleasure for us both, I promise."

  Trusting him completely, she lifted up on her tiptoes and allowed him to guide her. With one hand, he found the source of her desires already wet with want of him. Without a fumble, he guided his shaft inside her.