Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series)

by Beth Trissel

  “They will tell you I’m waiting for my coach to be mended.”

  He smiled.

  Despite her mistrust of all Frenchmen and this one in particular, she had to admit he was handsome. Copper highlights flecked his tawny gaze set wide above a patrician nose, high cheekbones and firm chin, all browned by the sun. The sensual lines of his mouth reminded her of Shoka’s and she couldn’t fault his well-built physique, but he possessed an annoying arrogance.

  “You have a saucy tongue in that pretty mouth. Will they also tell me you’ve strayed?”

  “Perhaps a bit,” she allowed.

  “Are you any particular warrior’s prize?”

  “Shoka took me captive.”

  “Fortunate for you. Shoka is clever and not heavy-handed like some.” A speculative glint shone in Renault’s eyes as he sat beside her, brushing her thigh. “Tell me, how did such an exquisite creature as you come to be in these mountains?”

  She edged away from him. “This is hardly the proper time to unburden my plight, sir. With neither of us dressed.”

  He caught her arm, towing her back to his side. “The timing delights me. As do you.” He pressed her fingers to his lips. “I’ll gladly hear your tale, fair lady. An inventive one, no doubt.”

  “Capitaine, please,” she said, attempting unsuccessfully to pull her hand away from his clasp.

  He arched chestnut brows. “How do you know my rank?”

  “I overheard earlier in camp.”

  He pinned her with his shrewd gaze. “You were hiding then, too?”

  “Yes—no.”

  “I begin to think you may be a spy.”

  “Absurd. What chance have I of getting word to Fort Warden?”

  “So you know we plan a fort assault?”

  “Of course. Black Knife questioned me for the very information he will be giving you. ’Twas a wretched ordeal.”

  “You appear very unaffected, unlike the poor Lieutenant.”

  “Shoka kept me from harm. But I suffered all the same.”

  “Did you indeed?”

  She bristled at his maddening appraisal. “You needn’t question everything I say, Capitaine.”

  Smiling again, he wrapped his right arm around her waist and lifted his left hand to her hair. The sun shone on the gold ring encircling his middle finger. The engraved band bore a family crest, a stag crossed with spears.

  “You have given me cause. Yet I am readily persuaded to leniency by such loveliness.”

  She tensed in his unwelcome embrace and pushed away his suggestive flattery. “I owe you no favors, sir, and a gentleman should require none.”

  He fingered a curling strand of hair at her cheek. “You are acquainted with many gentlemen?”

  “Not in the manner you suppose.”

  He gave her the half smile of the disbelieving. “Perhaps your charming attire has contributed to my misunderstanding.”

  “I do not dress this way on purpose. My gown is soaked.”

  “Ah. Why is this?”

  “Shoka tossed me into the stream.”

  He chuckled. “For what offense?”

  “You had best ask him.”

  He dropped his hand and slipped that arm around her waist as well. “Shoka is not here. You may confide in me.”

  “Capitaine Renault!”

  “You know my name? You are a superb spy, Mademoiselle.”

  She squirmed in his increasingly intimate embrace. “I am not a spy. And my title is Madame. Madame Elliot.”

  “Pardon, Madame Elliot. What of your husband?”

  “Captain Elliot was killed this spring.”

  The amusement in Renault’s eyes faded. “My condolences.”

  “Spare me your pity. It is possible you are the officer who shot him,” she said in a tone drenched with venom.

  “Most unlikely. I endeavor to take British officers prisoner. Still, if it were me, it is obvious I also wounded you. This I regret.”

  “Why should that trouble you?”

  He lightly drew his fingers over her cheek. “Why should I not regret paining one so fair?”

  She jerked away from his hand. “You don’t mind forcing your attentions on me. I belong to another.”

  “Does wifely loyalty extend beyond the grave?”

  “I do not speak of Captain Elliot, but of Shoka.”

  Renault snorted and then contemplated her as if uncertain whether or not she had spoken in jest. “Shoka and I are friends, Madame. He will sell you like the others.”

  “I am not just any captive, Capitaine.”

  “Agreed. I will pay him whatever he wishes.”

  “His wish is for me,” she argued, fearful Renault would prevail.

  “He will take the money, chérie.”

  “You do not understand, sir. I also want him.”

  “Come now. English women sometimes form attachments to warriors, but surely you do not prefer Shoka to me?”

  “To any other man.”

  “Non. You have no idea what you are inviting, even if he chose to keep you. Highly doubtful. He swore he would never take another wife after his first one left him.”

  Despite her unnerving predicament, Rebecca perked up her ears. “When? Why?”

  “Lord knows. The whoring beauty ran off with a Delaware warrior last year. It has made him very bitter to women.”

  “Not so very bitter. He held me as you do and kissed me on this very stone. I think he will keep me.”

  Renault curved his lips in a mocking smile. “Are you so trusting? Like a tender maid? You can be certain only of Shoka’s ardor, not his intentions.”

  The biting retort stung and she chewed her lip in the sinking realization that she could offer no more proof of Shoka’s regard than this.

  “Do not distress yourself,” Renault said in a gentler tone. “I will take you under my protection and care for you.”

  “There is an impediment, sir. I despise all French.”

  A cold rigidity settled over his formally congenial manner. “I am not overly fond of the English, but in your case I am willing to make an exception.”

  She regarded him with an equally cold eye. “I crave none.”

  “Do you not understand what I am offering?”

  “Do you not understand I am refusing?”

  “I am not accustomed to refusal.”

  “A lesson in humility would not come amiss, Capitaine. Release me at once.”

  “You are in no position to sermonize or issue orders. A lesson wouldn’t come amiss to you either, my proud Madame.”

  She writhed fiercely in his hold as he bent his head and determinedly covered her lips with his. He tasted of wintergreen and slanted his mouth expertly over hers, but she resented him as hotly as she would any stinking lout.

  “French bastard!” she hurled the instant he drew back.

  Warning glinted in his tawny eyes. “Curse me again and I swear I will do more than give you a wetting. Temper your reluctance, or I will treat you with the ruthlessness you seem to think all Frenchmen capable of.”

  She submitted to his demanding mouth with an outward show of meekness while scheming even as his passion enveloped her. She still had her wits and Renault wouldn’t possess her body if she could prevent him. A course of action occurred to her and she trembled at its outrageousness.

  “You needn’t be frightened,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ll not treat you callously if you give me no cause.”

  An assurance that offered little comfort, considering she was resolved to give him a great deal of trouble. She grew limp in his embrace. Perhaps he would believe she’d given up the last remnant of resistance.

  As expected, he lightened his grip. “I can be all gentleness,” he said and kissed softly over her face.

  She took advantage of her increased liberty and ran her freed fingers over his bare shoulders in a contrived caress. Had the capitaine been less absorbed in her charms, this might have struck him as unlikely. But as intelligent
as he was he seemed unaware of her true design.

  He buried his face in her hair. “Is this not easy?”

  “Very,” she breathed out, fearful her pounding heart would betray her.

  Sliding her fingers down his sides, she closed her hand around the hard protrusion jutting at his side below his belt. He took no notice and she slowly lifted his knife from its sheath. Still no recrimination from him.

  Her heart ratcheted up even more. Now that she had his knife, what was she to do with it? She must act at once or he’d discover what she’d done.

  Steeling herself, she poised the blade at his back.

  “Becca! No!”

  It was Meshewa. She nearly dropped the knife. With a furtive move, she tucked it among the folds of her petticoats.

  Meshewa raced up to them. “What do you want?” Renault demanded in clear annoyance.

  She raised her eyes to Meshewa in mute entreaty. If he gave her away, Renault’s wrath would fall heavily upon her.

  Meshewa weighed her unspoken plea. “This woman belongs to Shoka,” he replied, skirting Renault’s question.

  She went limp now in earnest at her near escape.

  “I will pay your cousin well.” Renault waved his objections aside.

  “Shoka does not wish to sell.”

  “Has he not said he prefers a rifle to a woman?”

  Meshewa was adamant. “He desires this woman.”

  “What man would not.” Renault traced his fingers along the pulse of her neck. “Yet he will not keep her. She is a passing pleasure.”

  Meshewa’s jaw tightened in what Rebecca sensed was barely suppressed anger. “To do this is without honor.”

  “Not all warriors possess a high degree of honor.”

  Doubt assailed Rebecca, but she refused to let Renault triumph. “Shoka will not use me in this way.”

  “Women are easily deceived, Madame.”

  She fought the impulse to drive the blade into his flesh.

  An admonishing look from Meshewa, and he said, “Give her into my care, Capitaine, until Shoka’s return.”

  “You desire her yourself. The hunger is in your eyes.”

  “I am not so foolish to take what is not mine. Nor should you.”

  Renault looked scathingly at the younger man. “You do not possess the means to buy her or the nerve to take her. Have care whom you call foolish, boy.”

  Meshewa clenched his fists. “I am not a boy, Capitaine.”

  Renault quirked an eyebrow at him. “Have you the skill to oppose me?”

  Meshewa gave a terse nod.

  Without another word, Renault sprang up and drove his fist into Meshewa’s jaw. His head snapped back, blood spurting from his split lip.

  Rebecca scrambled down from the stone. “No, Capitaine!”

  “Don’t fret, chérie. I’m only giving him a lesson.”

  She screamed as Renault slammed Meshewa’s jaw again.

  Reeling back, he tripped over a rock and thudded to the ground. Renault shot him a feral grin. “Had enough?”

  Meshewa shook off the blows. “Naga,” he spit out and leapt to his feet. Eyes flashing, hair flying, he dodged Renault’s fist and smacked him with a bone-jarring crack.

  Blood trickled from Renault’s mouth, but he didn’t even hesitate. He punched back and hurled Meshewa into the stream. The brave lurched down onto his knees in the swirling water.

  Drawn by Rebecca’s screams, curious Shawnee and the remaining Frenchman gathered along the bank. “Stop them!”

  No one made a move to separate the two combatants. A cheer went up as Meshewa tore from the stream in a sparkling arc of water and kicked out, catching Renault in the stomach.

  He doubled over with a grunt then glanced up at Meshewa from beneath stray lengths of reddish-brown hair. “Perhaps you are not such a boy, eh?”

  Meshewa waited, water streaming over his heaving bare chest, eyes on Renault.

  “Enough, Capitaine. Surely he’s proven himself?” Rebecca pleaded.

  Meshewa shifted his gaze to her. In that instant, Renault uncoiled like a snake and struck the unwary youth in the face. He drove a fist into his gut and threw him to the ground. “Always watch your opponent.”

  Too winded to reply, Meshewa lay sprawled on his back, opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish.

  Renault bent over him. “I could easily finish you.”

  Drawing the Frenchman’s knife from her petticoats, she rushed at him, her arm upraised. “Not while I live!”

  He whipped around. Throwing up an arm, he blocked her attack. The crowd looked on in astonishment.

  He seized her wrist. “Have you lost all reason?”

  “I’ll not let you kill my friend.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We were only sparring.”

  She winced as he bent her fingers back and pried the weapon from her hand.

  Meshewa heaved himself to his knees, both arms wrapped around his stomach. “The capitaine has no wish to kill me. We use no weapons,” he said breathlessly.

  “Where did you get this knife?”

  Eyeing Renault with contempt, she countered, “Whose initials does it bear?”

  He glanced at the blade. “Mon Dieu. When did you take it?”

  “When do you think?”

  The warriors who understood English chuckled and a red flush spread over Renault’s sun-kissed skin. “You thieving bitch. You deserve a beating.”

  “Go ahead. I can’t prevent you.”

  His narrow gaze hammered her. “Have you any notion how near I am come to letting my hand fly? Show me some respect.”

  She lifted her head. “I’ll not give any to a Frenchman.”

  He entrapped her wrists in one hand. “By heaven, I’ll teach you to.”

  Meshewa staggered up and grabbed Renault’s free arm. “Do not punish her, Capitaine.”

  “Look at this woman, the tilt of her jaw. Defiance fills her. She must learn to yield.”

  The brave hung on to Renault’s corded arm. “True. Yet she has much courage.”

  “This sort of courage is impudent and reckless.”

  “Yes. Allow one with less fury to teach her. Shoka.”

  The men gathered around the tense little tableau picked up Shoka’s name and heads nodded. “Livrez-la, Capitaine,” the second Frenchman urged, a plea for her release that Rebecca understood.

  “Mêle-tu de tes affaires, Remy,” Renault said irritably. But his anger seemed to be waning. He stared down at Rebecca. “I have never before abused a woman, Madame. With you I am sorely tempted. Still, the fault is partly my own. Release my arm, Meshewa. I will not strike her.”

  “Capitaine Renault.”

  Rebecca cringed at the menacing growl. Black Knife’s party must have returned. Wabete stormed through the parting crowd. His scowl etched deep lines in his scarred face.

  “Now we have trouble,” Renault muttered.

  The forbidding warrior seemed on the verge of killing them both. “Voulez-vous attirer l’intérêt de tous les ennemis dans ces bois, Capitaine? Wabete demanded.

  Grateful now for those childhood sessions with her French tutor, Rebecca understood the barrage Wabete doled out.

  “You wish to attract every enemy in these woods? The woman cries. You shout. We are at war, Capitaine.”

  His shoulders drooped. “I seem to have forgotten in my anger.”

  “You are a respected leader. Do not be ruled by anger.”

  “Or desire for a beautiful woman,” Meshewa added.

  Wabete shook his head and the silver cones at his ears bobbed furiously. “Does this woman never wear her gown? If she were my captive, I would sell her to you. What has she done now?”

  “Attacked me with a knife.”

  “How did she come by the knife?”

  Renault looked as if he’d rather be most anywhere else. “She took mine. I was a fool.”

  Laughter rose around them from the French-speaking braves. Wabete cast him a wry look. �
��Foolish men are often dead men, Capitaine. Why did Shoka’s captive attack you?”

  “Meshewa and I had a disagreement. She came to his aid.”

  Wabete looked at Rebecca with an odd light in his ravaged stare. “She did this?”

  “Oui. Meshewa has befriended her.”

  “My brother also. Yet he desires more than friendship.”

  “And I,” Meshewa confessed.

  Wabete rounded on his young cousin like an enraged elk. “Leave this devil cat to the capitaine or Shoka.” Anxiety tinged his dark eyes as he uttered Shoka’s name, but only for a moment. “My brother will return and say what is to become of this woman. Until then, I will guard her to ease the fire in you both. Come, woman,” he commanded in English.

  Neither Renault nor Meshewa interfered as Wabete marched her through a blur of green to camp. “Sit,” he ordered and pushed her down near a warm blaze. He handed Shoka’s blanket to her with stony disapproval. “Cover well.”

  She closed the cloth around her guardedly as he settled nearby. Plainly, he could speak English if he chose to. “Wabete?”

  He glanced up, seemingly surprised at her summons.

  “Shoka’s been gone for hours. Will you search for him?”

  “Shoka will come.” He lit his pipe, staring into the fire as he smoked.

  “You care much for your brother, don’t you?”

  He gave a nod.

  “Are you many years older than Shoka?”

  A smoke ring ascended overhead. “I see six and thirty harvest moons. Shoka, six and twenty.” He jabbed the pipe at her. “You are bad for Shoka.”

  “No. I would make him a good wife.”

  “Shoka does not wish for English wife.”

  “He desires me.”

  “To lie with you, yes.”

  Renault and Meshewa trailed back into camp, the jovial company milling around them in far better spirits than the two combatants. Wabete thrust his pipe at Renault’s sullen countenance and Meshewa’s bruised face. “These also.” He tapped his own scarred chest. “I do not wish for a mistress.”

  “I don’t want to be your mistress!”

  Heads turned and amused faces regarded them. “Hush, woman,” Wabete hissed.

  Rebecca retreated from his censure to curl dejectedly on the ground. Shoka cares for me, she told herself, but doubt grew with her deepening apprehension.