Fire Dancer

by Colleen French

  Mackenzie moaned in surprise. It felt different this way, but good . . . so good.

  She slipped her hands around his neck. He encircled her hips with his arms. By rising and lowering on her toes she discovered that she could control the rhythm of their lovemaking.

  Up and down she stroked. Sweat beaded above her upper lip. Her breath came faster. She thrust faster, matching her pace to his breathing. His breath quickened and she slowed down. His breath came more evenly and she stroked faster.

  He groaned with pleasure, calling her name, caressing her back and bare bottom. Soon she could no longer move only to give him pleasure. Her own desire had become too strong, too overpowering. The urge to drive faster, take him deeper was too intense.

  He caught her hands and they laced their fingers together. "Fire Dancer." She called his name with wild abandon, unaware that someone might hear her cries of pleasure.

  Her world suddenly burst into a thousand shards of bright light, each twinkle a shudder of pleasure. She felt Fire Dancer's entire body stiffen beneath her and with one last thrust he released his seed into her with a groan of relief.

  For a long moment Mackenzie sat perfectly still on his lap, riding the last waves of sensation. Outside she could hear the drums again. Men were chanting. There were no individual sounds, only the drums and the haunting voices.

  "We must go, Mack-en-zie," he said, his voice still husky from their lovemaking.

  She smoothed the silky black hair on the crown of his head. "This woman knows," she answered simply.

  She climbed off his lap and pushed down her dress. She wished he would light a lamp so that she could see his face. It was so dark inside the wigwam that she couldn't see his face.

  She heard him stand and search for his loin cloth on the sleeping platform. With a smile, she reached into the bed furs and held it out to him. He made a motion to take it from her with his hand that trembled.

  She was touched that she could affect him in such a way. "No," she said softly, pushing his hands away. "Let me." She had watched him do it before. She knew how it tied. She needed no light to see. As she wrapped the soft leather around his bare buttocks and tucked in his manhood, she felt a strange sense of closeness with him she'd not felt before. This closeness was comfortable.

  She gave the knot she tied at his hip a pat for good measure. "Done." She glanced up. "There was something you wanted to tell me when you came in?"

  "I . . ." He wiped his damp forehead with his hand. "It is nothing. This is not the time." He reached behind her to the sleeping mat. "This man brought you a gift. Moccasins. Sit and I will put them on you."

  They both looked toward the door at the sound of the door flap moving. It was Laughing Woman. Mackenzie felt flustered. What if she had come in only a few moments before? Mackenzie would have been mortified to have been caught in the act . . . and sitting on his lap for heaven's sake.

  "It is time you come to the great fire," Laughing Woman said simply. "Snake Man and chief wait."

  Mackenzie could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She couldn't see Laughing Woman's face and yet she got the impression that the woman knew what they had been doing. Before Mackenzie could say anything the flap fell and she was gone.

  "Fire Dancer, who is she?"

  He turned to her. "She is Laughing Woman, of course."

  "No. Who is she? To you." She felt a tightening in her throat. "Is that what you came to tell me? Please say she's not your wife."

  "Laughing Woman is not my wife. This man would not have been free to make love with you if he had a wife. Now sit and let me place the moccasins on your feet."

  She sat down and dangled her bare feet over the edge of the bed. "Where did you get them?" Even in the darkness she could see that the moccasins were made of white doeskin like her dress.

  Each touch a caress, he slid her foot gently into the buttery leather. "My mother's wigwam."

  She stared at his bowed head. Her woman's sense of intuition told her he did not give the whole truth. "They were meant for Laughing Woman, weren't they?" It was a question, not an accusation.

  He tied the moccasin tight on her foot and reached for the other. "This is not the time to speak of this matter, Mack-en-zie. We must turn our thoughts to that which is more important." He tied the other moccasin and took her hand, raising her off the bed. "Come. We must go."

  Mackenzie swallowed against her fear and took her place at Fire Dancer's side. He picked up the portrait and carried it as they stepped out of the privacy of the wigwam and into the unknown.

  Joshua Watkins warmed his hands over the open camp fire in the center of the fort compound. It was late at night and a chilling breeze blew through the treetops. All around him soldiers patrolled the palisade walls.

  Josh cleared his throat. "You have to let me go, Major, with or without soldiers. I'm not under your command. You can't make me stay."

  Major Albertson stood directly across the campfire and puffed on his long-stemmed Dutch pipe. "It's not because I don't want you to go, boy." He sounded worn out. "It's not because I don't want to find her, but you're young and you're inexperienced."

  "Not as young as I was two weeks ago."

  Albertson gazed at Josh, the firelight flickering across his face. "Guess you're right on that one. An Indian attack does that to a man. Some it strengthens, others it breaks down. It broke Lieutenant Allen. I sent him home to England babbling about his mother's pudding. You . . ." With his boot, he scuffed the dirt that had finally dried in the yard. "I've seen you grow up fast. I've seen you act like a man. You've been a great help to me these last few days since the attack. More of a help than some of my officers."

  Josh hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his wool breeches. "I gotta go, Harry. Her father's dead. It's my place to find her." And I was the one that shot her , he thought. "To make sure she really is all right."

  Josh hadn't told anyone what had happened that night. He was too embarrassed, too horrified by his own actions, his own stupidity, to confess.

  Albertson sighed and scratched his beard. "Hell, Josh." He sounded choked up. "I hate to be the one to say this but, you know she's got to be de—"

  "Don't say it," Josh warned. He kept his voice low, but he wanted the major to know he meant what he said. Mackenzie couldn't have died from the gunshot wound he inflicted. It could only have been a graze. There'd been no blood. "She's not dead. I know Mackenzie. She's a survivor. She'd do whatever she had to live."

  Albertson groaned. "If I can accept the fact, you can. Josh, you don't know these redskins like I do. They'd not give her a chance to escape. They—"

  "With all due respect, there's no need for us to be gettin' into this discussion again, Major." Josh stared across the campfire at him. "I'm going out looking for her. I've found a half-breed scout willing to lead me. He knows where the Hurons and the Shawnee winter. He thinks he can help me find her."

  "For a price."

  "Aye, for a price. But hell, I got Mr. Daniels' money. I got his tavern and trading post back on the Chesapeake now." Josh fought the tears that stung the backs of his eyeballs. "But without Mackenzie, without my woman, I got nothin'." He wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his coat. It was a coat Mackenzie had patched for him just last winter. "You understand what I'm saying?"

  "I understand. Hell, I wish I could go with you." He looked away. "But facts are facts and my first responsibility is to my men. Without reinforcements, I can't send any soldiers with you. I just can't." He put out his hand. "If you wait another week or so, maybe the fresh troops will arrive. Maybe—"

  "With all due respect, I can't wait, sir. Winter is coming in fast. The first snow will fly soon." Josh held out his hand in goodwill. "I gotta go now before it's too late."

  Major Albertson took his hand and clasped it tightly. "Good luck. I hope to hell you find her. I really do."

  Josh released the major's hand, tipped his hat and walked away from the campfire. "Don't you worry. I will. I will b
ecause I know Mackenzie's countin' on me."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mackenzie was so afraid as she walked past the empty wigwams that her feet were numb in her new white moccasins. But the drums called, and she walked beside Fire Dancer, her chin high, her back straight.

  No one, man or woman, red or white, would call her a coward. In the remote possibility that she would die at the hands of the Shawnee, she knew she had led a good life, better than most. She had a father that cared for her and a man who loved her. No one could take that away from her. Not Laughing Woman, not Fire Dancer's father, the chief, not even the holy Snake Man. If she went to her grave tonight, it would be with the thought that she had truly lived because she had loved.

  Not that she would give up without a fight . . .

  "You must not speak at the communal fire," Fire Dancer whispered, breaking her reverie. "It is not your place."

  "I'm just supposed to stand there and let some snake person hand down my sentence?"

  "It must be approved by the chief."

  She gripped his arm. She had not met the chief or Fire Dancer's mother yet. "But he would not see me harmed, would he? Because I'm your . . . I'm your woman." She wished she could see into his eyes. They had never defined their relationship. They hadn't had a chance. "I am your woman, right?"

  Fire Dancer patted her hand that gripped his arm so tightly. "You are my woman. This man is your man. Sometimes we must allow ourselves to be swept down the path of the unknown. We must trust fate and the great Tapalamawatah. "

  She stepped easier beside him. Fire Dancer's woman . She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it gave her strength to keep walking.

  Ahead a huge campfire blazed. More than a hundred men, women, and children gathered around the circle of bright light. All black eyes were focused on her and Fire Dancer.

  Mackenzie sucked in a strangled breath, fighting the sense of panic in her chest. "Fire Dancer wouldn't let me die," she repeated beneath her breath like a chant. "He won't. He loves me."

  Fire Dancer released her arm and walked ahead. Mackenzie fell in behind him, sensing her role.

  The circle of men and women parted and allowed Fire Dancer and Mackenzie to enter the inner circle. The drums beat in a frenzied crescendo. The men shouted words she didn't understand.

  An old man, his face wrinkled by time, stood close to the blazing fire. Two long white braids framed his sunken cheeks and a snake made a stole around his shoulders. Another snake coiled on the ground at the old man's feet, and yet another protruded from a leather bag he wore on his shoulder.

  Mackenzie feared she would stumble. It hadn't occurred to her that the man might bring his damned snakes with him.

  Fire Dancer caught her eye and made the hand sign for the word snake. She could have sworn she saw a teasing smile on his face.

  The gesture was enough to calm her nerves and strengthen her resolve. It was a private joke between them. Only she knew that he had once feared snakes. She made the hand sign at her side in response. He gave a slight nod and returned his attention to the holy man.

  The drums stopped and the voices abruptly ceased. No one moved; not a child peeped. There was only silence and the crackling of the fire.

  Fire Dancer walked to Snake Man. He nodded in obvious reverence and said something in Shawnee. The old man responded. Next Fire Dancer spoke to the middle-aged woman standing proudly beside the holy man.

  Who was she? She seemed too young for Snake Man's wife. Perhaps she was his daughter or his assistant, Mackenzie surmised.

  The woman, dressed in a dyed red doeskin dress very similar to the one Mackenzie wore, nodded regally to Fire Dancer, then to Mackenzie.

  Mackenzie nodded, but did not smile because the woman did not smile. She wondered where the chief, Fire Dancer's father, was.

  Fire Dancer switched to English. "Greetings, oh great chief and holy man of the Shawnee."

  Chief? Mackenzie was confused. Snake Man wasn't the chief; he was the holy man. Did that mean that this woman was the chief? How was that possible? A woman? Where was Fire Dancer's father? Mackenzie thought he was the chief.

  The old man lifted his jutting chin in Fire Dancer's direction but made no indication he saw Mackenzie.

  The woman smiled. It was Fire Dancer's smile.

  Mackenzie stared at her. This had to be his mother.

  "Greetings, Mack-en-zie of the Brit-ish," the woman said in a loud, capable voice. "I am M shwahwee Wahkochathee , of the turtle clan of the Shawnee. Red Fox in your Ing-lish manake words."

  "Greetings, Red Fox," Mackenzie replied, relieved she was able to respond sensibly. "This woman would thank you for your care during my illness."

  The old woman's black-eyed gaze did not stray. She watched Mackenzie closely. "It was not I who cared for you, but my son—"

  So she was Fire Dancer's mother . . .

  " . . . and Laughing Woman," Red Fox finished.

  Mackenzie did not break eye contact. "This woman under stands," she responded in the formal Shawnee manner, "but this woman still thanks you. Without your approval, I would think I would not have been permitted to enter the village, and your son would not have been permitted to care for me as well as he has."

  A smile tugged on the corner of Red Fox's mouth as her gaze swept from Mackenzie to her son and back to Mackenzie again. "Fire Dancer of the Thunder Sky was right when he spoke of you, Mack-en-zie." The chief raised her hand, dismissing Mackenzie with a turn of her wrist. "Let us begin. Muneto Eelenee. "

  Everyone's attention once again focused on the holy man. Mackenzie tried not to look at the snake that slithered at his feet or the one wrapped around his neck that flickered its forked tongue.

  The old man barked something in Shawnee.

  "Ah." Fire Dancer offered the portrait of himself he carried under his arm.

  The holy man took the portrait with shaky hands and leaned it against a large rock at his feet. He produced a bleached white turtle shell rattle from his leather snake bag and shook it, chanting in the ancient language. His sing-song voice rose into the treetops with the wisps of smoke.

  Fire Dancer took one step back so that he stood beside Mackenzie.

  The old man danced around the snake and the portrait on the ground, with tiny, rehearsed steps. He chanted and shook his rattle. The drums picked up the beat and the Indians clapped.

  Mackenzie was overwhelmed by sounds of the Shawnee. She had no idea what the old man was saying. Fire Dancer listened intently.

  Mackenzie whispered in Fire Dancer's ear. "What is he saying?"

  "Hsst. He tells a story. Silence!"

  Mackenzie had a nearly uncontrollable urge to run. She felt as if she was being propelled through the air with no way to govern the speed or destination. She knew that what the old man was saying had something to do with her. She just didn't know what.

  The chanting and dancing went on for a few minutes until the music came to a sudden halt. The Indians all raised their fists in a shout and fell silent.

  Mackenzie watched Fire Dancer, wishing she could read his thoughts. What was happening?

  The Snake Man raised the turtle rattle over his head, gave it one more shake, and spoke rapidly.

  Mackenzie had learned a few Shawnee words from Fire Dancer and from Laughing Woman, but Snake Man spoke so rapidly that she had no idea what he was saying.

  Fire Dancer pulled his lips back in a taut grimace. "Mahtah. "

  Mackenzie spotted movement in the crowd and heard a woman cry out in angst. Laughing Woman bolted from the circle of light, her cheeks wet with tears, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Mackenzie wanted to go after her and comfort her. Laughing Woman had been so good to her. Mackenzie knew that she had something to do with Laughing Woman's tears. It had something to do with what the Snake Man had said and what Fire Dancer protested.

  Mackenzie whipped back around and faced the holy man. He still chanted in Shawnee. Fire Dancer stood with his legs spread, his arms cro
ssed over his partially bare chest. He set his jaw in anger.

  What was the sentence? Were they going to kill her? Was that why Laughing Woman had fled? Was this really funeral attire Mackenzie wore?

  Mackenzie stepped forward. She'd not stand quietly behind Fire Dancer while some old man with a snake around his neck issued a death warrant. "What is it?" she demanded of Fire Dancer. When he didn't respond immediately, she grabbed his muscular forearm.

  The crowd gasped in unison.

  "I said, what the blessed bloody hell is going on here?" Mackenzie shouted. "Does he want to kill me?"

  "It is not death he sentences you to," Fire Dancer said, his voice grave. "It is marriage."

  Mackenzie felt nothing but numbness. "M . . . marriage? To you?"

  Fire Dancer did not meet her gaze. "Ah . Our holy man says that if part of a man's soul must be possessed by a woman, it is best if he be possessed by his wife."

  Mackenzie took a stumbling step backward. She heard Fire Dancer's words, yet she couldn't believe them. Surely this snake man couldn't force Fire Dancer to marry her. She was in complete shock . . . but at the same time she felt a crushing sense of disappointment. Fire Dancer was agitated. He obviously didn't want to marry her.

  "I . . . I won't marry him," Mackenzie said. She took a step back from the holy man and Red Fox. If Fire Dancer didn't want to marry her, she certainly wasn't going to marry him. "You can't make me. I . . . I'm a Christian." All she could think of was that she wanted to turn and run. Run and keep running. "I'm a citizen of the British empire. I . . . I have rights."

  Fire Dancer grabbed her arm and pulled her back toward him. "Silence. I told you, you must not speak. This holy man has the right to issue a death warrant. Don't you understand?" His black-eyed gaze met hers and the look in his eyes told her he was serious. She really could have died.

  "Fire Dancer," she whispered. "This . . . this isn't what you want, is it? You don't really want me to be your wife."