Wild Innocence

by McCarthy, Candace

  Rachel’s head felt fuzzy when the Indian raised his head to gaze down at her. She blinked to clear her vision. His face was taut. His eyes glowed hotly in the darkness.

  “Destiny, ” he said softly.

  No, she didn’t need a man, she thought, shaking her head. “No, ” she whispered.

  “It is so.”

  She was terrified. “No!”

  “No!” she cried as she jerked awake. It was dark in the room. Her breath rasped loudly in the silence. She closed her eyes to fight the remnants of her dream. After a few moments, she felt her sense of calm return.

  Unable to go back to sleep, Rachel slipped out from under the covers and went to the window. She was surprised to see that night had fallen and it was long past the supper hour. There were no lights in the settlement. Everyone had retired for the night. She pushed open a window and stood before the opening, allowing a light breeze from the outside to caress her bare skin.

  The moon cast a soft glow on the road, the blacksmithy, and the blacksmith’s house across the street. Rachel gazed at the house. That’s Amelia’s home, she thought, startled. Jack Keller had said that Amelia and her husband were away. She wondered when her sister would return. Should she wait for Amelia, or continue on to the mission to see her father?

  The breeze brushed her skin and teased her hair. It felt wonderful to stand there with the knowledge that everyone was asleep and no one could see her. She felt a sense of freedom in being naked. No corsets to constrict her breathing. No chemise, or pantalets, or stockings.

  The warm summer air felt wonderful. Like a lover’s caress might, she thought.

  Rachel was suffused with a tide of heat as she recalled the Indian and her dream. First, she’d dreamt of him during the journey, that she’d seen him in the forest, when he’d spoken in his strange tongue and touched her hair.

  This last dream was shocking in its detail. Why would she dream that an Indian had come and kissed her? And the Indian’s kiss had been nothing like Jordan’s.

  Jordan’s betrayal had hurt her terribly. Had the dream been a way of soothing her pain? Perhaps, a way to show herself that she was still desirable, that a stranger, even an Indian, had been attracted enough to want her? Earlier, she had gone to sleep with sad thoughts of Jordan.

  Rachel shivered and hugged herself with her arms. But why would the savage tell her that destiny had linked them?

  The sudden sight of movement across the street, near her sister’s house, startled Rachel. She gasped and stepped away from the window, then carefully inched her head just enough past the window frame to peek outside.

  She experienced a jolt of alarm as a figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped into the moonlight. He turned and looked up toward her room. She gasped. No, it couldn’t be! But it was! At least, it looked like an Indian!

  Her heart pounding, she quickly stepped back into the shadows. Was she dreaming still?

  She pinched herself and cried out. The pain was real, which meant that the savage in the street below was real. She leaned forward, peering into the night, and frowned. The savage was gone. She waited with thrumming heart to see if the Indian would reappear, but he didn’t.

  I am not crazy. She spun from the window to search for something to put on. Ignoring a need for undergarments, she went to her clothes trunk, grabbed a gown, and dressed.

  I’ll prove that I’m not crazy. If the Indian was down there, I’ll find some sign of him. A footprint. Something!

  She fumbled to fasten the buttons along her bodice front, then rummaged under the bed for her kid slippers, which she put on.

  Her nerves strung tightly, Rachel opened her bedchamber door and slipped silently from the room. The interior of the hotel was silent. Mrs. Treehorn had left a sconce burning to light up the hallway to the staircase. Rachel negotiated the stairs without mishap and tiptoed toward the exit.

  The door squeaked as she pulled it open. She hesitated, listening. Once assured that she had disturbed no one, Rachel left the hotel and entered the night.

  Her skin tingled as she clung to the side of the hotel building so the Indian, if he was still there, couldn’t see her. She waited several heartbeats before venturing away from the hotel to cross the road hurriedly. She headed to the spot where she’d thought she’d seen the Indian.

  There was no sign of anyone. Rachel peered into the darkness, but saw nothing. She studied the ground, but saw no footprints. She began to breathe easier. She must have been dreaming still when she thought she saw him.

  Her attention went to her sister’s house. Amelia lives here, she thought with amazement. Curiosity propelled her closer to the building. She found a window and peered in through an opening in the curtains. It was too dark inside to see, so Rachel rose up on her tiptoes to press herself against the window glass.

  She growled with frustration and lifted herself higher. When she still couldn’t see, she tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, she stood back to eye the cabin. She moved away, saw another window, and headed toward that opening to see if the moonlight afforded better lighting there.

  Cupping the sides of her face with her hands, she pressed against the glass and peered in. She could just barely make out the outline of a dining table and two chairs.

  A large hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Rachel whimpered and her eyes widened in fear. She began to struggle, but an arm encircled her, pinning her hands and body to a hard form.

  She jerked her head and tried to cry out, but the figure—the man, she assumed—moved quickly, stifling her with his hand, shifting her so that she couldn’t move within his hold.

  Her mouth went dry, and she experienced real terror as the man began to drag her around to the side of the building, into the dark shadows, where there was no moonlight.

  She stumbled as he continued to drag her along. As he tugged her upright, she kicked back at him with her foot, and was satisfied to hear him grunt with pain.

  His grip tightened without mercy, and she gasped. Tears filled her eyes as she wondered if she was about to be murdered.

  “If you will cease your struggling, I will release you,” a dark, angry voice said.

  Rachel went still.

  “You will not scream if I let you go?”

  He eased his grip slightly. She was able to nod.

  “If you cry out, I will silence you,” the voice said ominously.

  She nodded again.

  He slowly let go of her mouth.

  Rachel drew in air to scream, but the man quickly grabbed her, cutting off her breath and stifling her cry before it was uttered.

  The man tightened his grip. “I warned you, woman.” Whimpering, she struggled. “If you do not cease, I will slit your throat.”

  He shifted, and a blade suddenly appeared, gleaming in the darkness.

  She froze, her blood icing over.

  He softened his grip, but didn’t put away the knife. “You will not utter a sound?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. His voice was strangely accented. She wondered where the man came from and why he was here.

  “Good.” He released her, but kept the blade to her throat. “You may turn around slowly.”

  Rachel eased about carefully. She wanted to see this man who threatened her life. His face was in the shadows. She couldn’t make out his features; she could barely make out his size.

  “What are you doing breaking into the house of the blacksmith?” he said gruffly.

  “I wasn’t trying to break in!” she gasped.

  “Silence!” He waved the knife; she could see the blade gleaming in the darkness.

  She stiffened and jerked back. “Be careful,” she exclaimed, “or you’ll hurt someone!”

  He grunted. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t have to tell you.” She hesitated, then boldly asked, “Who are you?”

  He tugged her out of the shadow of the building, into a shaft of moonlight, then released her. “I am Black-Hawk-W
ho-Hunts-at-Dawn, war chief of the Anishinaabe.”

  Rachel gasped as she saw his long dark hair, his clothing. “You’re an Indian!”

  He narrowed his gaze. “And you are a white woman.”

  “I am Rachel Dempsey, and this is my sister’s house!”

  “Then why are you not inside?”

  “Amelia’s not here,” she said. “She doesn’t know I’ve come.”

  “You are sister to Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend?” He put away the knife, slipping it into the sheath in his legging strap.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about!”

  He shifted, so that the moonlight outlined his face clearly. Rachel drew a sharp breath. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be you.” But it was him—the Indian in her dream.

  “Why are you following me?” she asked.

  He frowned. “I do not understand. I did not follow you in the forest. I have been at my village. I have come with my friend, Daniel.”

  She felt a jolt. “You know Daniel?”

  The brave nodded. He was really quite an interesting man to look at, Rachel thought.

  “Daniel Trahern,” he said. “We have been friends for many winters.”

  “Daniel is away. Why are you here?”

  “Daniel is here. I came with him.”

  “My sister is home?” she cried.

  “She is home and asleep ... if you do not wake her with your loud whispers. She is with child and needs her rest.”

  “Child?” she echoed, shocked by the news. “No ... she can’t be.”

  “She is with child. I have heard it from my friend.” His gaze narrowed. “If you are her sister, why do you not know this?”

  “I told you, she doesn’t know I’m here!” Amelia is with child!

  “How do I know that you are sister to Daniel’s wife?”

  “Ask me about her ... about anything but the baby. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “What is the hair color of Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend?”

  Rachel scowled. “What is a tree that will not bend?”

  “It is the Ojibwa name for your sister.”

  “Then you believe that she is my sister.” She was startled. Her sister had an Ojibwa name?

  He stared at her hard. “I do not know this. What is her hair color?”

  “She has brown hair. Not the color of mine, but softer. Her eyes are gray.”

  He caught her chin, held her face up to the moonlight. “You have eyes like the grass of summer.” His touch burned her skin.

  “I have green eyes, yes,” she said, shaken by his hands on her.

  “Why not you have the same eyes as Amelia?”

  “We don’t have to have the same hair and eyes to be siblings.”

  He released her. “What is ‘siblings?’ ”

  “Sisters.” She was relieved when he stepped away. “Brothers. People who have the same mother and father.”

  An owl hooted in the near distance, startling her. “This conversation is ridiculous and pointless,” she said with exasperation. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me. It’s late, and I’m tired. I’m going across to my hotel room to get some sleep.”

  She started to walk away. He grabbed her.

  “You are sister to Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend,” he said softly.

  Rachel’s heart pumped hard as she looked down at his hand on her arm. She lifted her head to gaze up at him. “What convinced you?”

  He withdrew his hand, but her arm retained the heated imprint of his fingers. “You are sturdy like Daniel’s wife. You have hard head and courage like Tree-That-Will-Not-Bend.”

  She stiffened and narrowed her gaze. “Are you saying that I’m stubborn?”

  He grinned in the darkness. His smile dazzled her, unnerved her. Rachel felt the hairs tingle at the back of her neck, as sensation traveled down her spine. She stared at his mouth. The memory of her dream made her blush and avert her gaze.

  “You do not like to have courage?” he asked.

  “Is that what I have?” she asked, glancing back, pleased by the thought.

  He nodded. “I will see you in the house of your sister?”

  “I suppose so.” Was this Indian really Amelia’s friend? My sister has really changed, she thought.

  The brave tilted his head as he studied her. “Why have you come?” he asked.

  She felt a knot form in her stomach. She wouldn’t tell him about Jordan. She wasn’t sure she’d tell Amelia about him. “To see my family.”

  “Why have you not come sooner?”

  Rachel averted her gaze. “It wasn’t a good time before now.”

  “You have come for a visit?”

  “I’ve—ah—come to stay.”

  He was silent for such a long moment that Rachel shifted uncomfortably. “You are running away,” he said.

  “I am not!” He was too close to the truth. How could a savage even guess what she was doing here?

  Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn nodded his head. “Something has driven you from your home.”

  “Yes,” she said, annoyed, “my desire to see my family.”

  He shrugged, calling attention to his wide, bronzed shoulders and his muscular forearms. “You go to sleep now. It is late. The morning sun will rise soon, and you will be tired.”

  “I’ll go to bed when I’m good and ready!”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Fortunately, I’m good and ready now,” she muttered as she turned away.

  She had not gone but a few feet when his voice came back to her in the darkness. “May the Great Spirit protect you while you sleep.”

  Startled by his words, she gazed at him. “Good night,” she said softly. Then, she turned away, conscious of his continued gaze as she crossed the street and slipped inside the hotel.

  Chapter 4

  “Rachel! Rachel!” A voice accompanied the heavy hammering on the bedchamber door. “Wake up! Rachel!”

  Rachel sat up, feeling groggy. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, then glanced warily at the door.

  “Rachel!”

  “Miranda?” She finally recognized that the voice was her friend’s.

  “Yes! Hurry and open up!”

  “Just a minute!” she called as she swung her legs to the floor. It took her a moment to get her balance. Why did she feel so tired? She had gone to bed early enough; in fact, she had missed supper. Then, she’d had this wild dream, she thought as she moved toward the door. She’d dreamed about an Indian. First, she’d dreamed she’d seen him again in the forest, then outside by the house across the road.

  “Rachel, hurry! I have to tell you something,” Miranda exclaimed.

  “What’s so important that it can’t wait a few seconds!” Rachel said as she threw open the door. She stepped back to allow her friend entry.

  Miranda studied her from head to toe. “You’re not dressed yet! What’s wrong with you, Rach? You should have had enough rest. Are you ill?”

  “No, I’m not sick. I didn’t sleep that well, is all.”

  “Well, you look peaked.”

  “I’m fine,” Rachel said. “Really.”

  “Good.” Miranda suddenly wore a funny grin. “I just found out something I think you’ll find interesting.”

  “My sister is home,” Rachel guessed, not really believing it. She’d dreamt it, but it couldn’t be true. She turned in time to see Miranda’s face fall.

  “How did you know that?”

  “What?”

  “That Amelia came home yesterday afternoon.”

  Rachel stiffened. “Amelia came home yesterday afternoon?” She felt shaken. It had been a dream, hadn’t it?

  Miranda looked at her strangely. “You didn’t know.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I was joking.”

  “Well, it’s no joke that yesterday Amelia and her husband came home from wherever they were.”

  “I see.” She turned away so Miranda couldn’t see that she was upset by news of he
r sister’s return. Why? Because Amelia was married?

  “Aren’t you excited?” Miranda asked. “We’ve come all this way for you to be reunited with your family, and now that the time is near for you to see them, you act as if you have no desire to.”

  Rachel spun to face her. “Of course I want to see them!” She hugged herself with her arms. “Do you think it will be easy for me to tell them that I’m a failure? Do you think it won’t be hard to explain about Jordan?”

  “Oh, Rachel ...” Miranda hurried forward to hug her friend. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t think.”

  Rachel managed to give her a smile. “It’ll be like reliving the whole incident again.”

  “Then don’t tell them.”

  “Don’t tell them?” Rachel echoed.

  “Do they really have to know?” Miranda moved to sit on Rachel’s bed. “You can tell them later, when it doesn’t hurt so much.”

  Would it ever stop hurting? Rachel wondered. “I suppose I don’t have to tell them.”

  “Right.” Miranda patted the bed, testing the mattress. “You decide when you want to tell them, if you want to tell them. No sense pouring salt into the wounds.”

  The idea of keeping silent on the matter appealed to Rachel. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  She went to the dresser and stared in the mirror. She looked bright-eyed and pale. Why did she have to tell them anything? Because I need an excuse for why I’m here.

  “What am I going to tell them?” she asked. “They’ll think it strange that I’ve come.” She picked up a hairbrush and began to pull it through her hair. “When they left, I was enjoying the round of social engagements.”

  Miranda tilted her head, as if thoughtful. Her expression brightened. “I know!” She grinned. “Tell them that you had a suitor that wouldn’t stop bothering you. Because of him, you felt in peril staying in Baltimore.”

  Rachel widened her eyes. “That might work.” Surely, they’d understand that she’d wanted to escape such an ardent beau. She frowned. She didn’t like lying to her family. Then, something else occurred to her. “What if Aunt Bess writes and mentions Jordan?”