The Cumberland Bride

by Shannon McNear

  Another sob caught in her throat. “I—no. Perhaps.”

  “I didn’t know it then…but as the days passed and I carried you with me on Ladyslipper, held you…I was growing attached to you. Falling… aye, falling in love with you. But I fought it, wouldn’t let myself think about it, because—well, I already told you why. And I had to watch Jacob Hughes follow you around like a puppy, like he had a chance at catching your eye—”

  She stirred in his arms, tipped back her head to look at him, lifted one hand to touch the edge of his jaw. “Which he never did. There was always you—”

  Her face dipped again.

  “You kept coming to me,” he whispered. “And I kept turning you away, although I wanted—deep down I wanted—” His own breath caught. “So when we decided that I’d try to escape, and I didn’t even know whether I’d see you alive again—I wanted that kiss. I wanted you to know, at least a little, how I felt. To—give you a reason to hold on, to wait for me to come.”

  Her face lifted again, her dark eyes luminous in the light of the rising moon. “It did give me reason. Sometimes remembering it was all that kept me going. The hope that—that you would come, and then—”

  She hesitated, and in that moment when words seemed to fail her, he reclaimed that sweet, soft mouth with his own.

  She sank against him, arms sliding up around his neck, answering his kiss in that way he’d hoped he hadn’t imagined the first time. Heart beating against his, clinging as she had earlier that day, embracing him—even after hearing of his past with the Shawnee.

  He broke the kiss but kept her tightly in his arms. “Oh Kate…I was so afraid I’d lose you before you were even properly mine.”

  Trembling, she nodded. “I hardly dared believe you meant what I thought you did—”

  Ladyslipper’s whinny broke the evening stillness.

  Kate knew, without being told, that it was Crying Bird. Thomas released her and signaled for quiet, and she’d hardly time to gather the blanket back around her before he took her hand and crept farther under the trees and back to their camp.

  Another horse’s whinny answered Ladyslipper, down the hill and back up the trail where they’d ridden a bit ago.Thomas froze, head cocked, then pointed at the ground and a palm-down motion. Kate sank to her knees as he retrieved his rifle and slung powder horn and shot bag around his body. Crouching, he offered her a pistol. “You know how to use this, aye?” he whispered.

  Her heart was racing now for reasons wholly unrelated to earlier, but she nodded. “Papa taught me.”

  “And this.” He reached inside the top of his leggings and pulled out a small knife. “Do you think you could stick a man, if you had to?”

  She caught her breath. That indeed did seem a harder thing, but considering all they’d already endured—

  “Crying Bird isn’t likely to spare either of us this time.” Though his voice was a low murmur, it held all the weight of a boulder. “He might, you, but you saw how furious he was. If it’s this or your life, don’t hesitate. Do you hear me?”

  “I—would do my best.” She took the knife from him.

  “My brave girl.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, then stepped back to tuck the matching pistol into his belt and stood listening again. The sounds of approaching hooves had stopped.

  He held out a hand to her and led her higher on the hill, just above Ladyslipper. Kate tried to be as quiet as he, but was sure she failed miserably. They reached the summit without mishap though, and he stopped yet again to listen. “Wait here,” he breathed, pointing to another cluster of rocks.

  Then he disappeared through the moonlit shadows.

  Thomas ran lightly from rock to rock, taking advantage of the shadows. He had no strategy here, only blind instinct. Crying Bird would do everything he could to take them by surprise. His weapon of choice from boyhood was the tomahawk, but so many years had passed, that might have changed, and all the Indians involved in their capture had rifles. Regardless, Thomas would not knowingly expose himself even in moonlight.

  He could count on Ladyslipper’s greeting giving away at least an approximate location. The only question was from what direction Crying Bird would take an approach. By setting Kate to wait uphill from the horse, he hoped to keep her out of the conflict, but he couldn’t expect that the Shawnee brave would simply walk into their camp either. Maybe if he couldn’t intercept Crying Bird, he could come up from behind.

  It was like old games of hide-and-seek, out here in the moonlit forest—but deadly. Crying Bird wouldn’t take him prisoner this time. It was unlikely enough that he’d show mercy to Kate. Yet his very gut congealed at the thought of having to strike the first blow with one who had been as a brother.

  Lord…oh Lord, is there any way around this? I know You can preserve us here, under the shadow of death—but will You? There are others who have cried out to You, but You didn’t see fit to save them. Will You do this for us?

  Once again a longing seared through him, not just to hold Kate in his arms and steal kisses under the wings of danger, but to be able to live out a long and even possibly unremarkable life, with her at his side.

  Please, merciful God, let it be!

  A rustle of leaves came from just below him, which might have been a breath of wind, except…no wind stirred the air tonight. Not at this elevation.

  Kate crouched on one knee, pistol in hand but resting across her leg. From her perch, she could trace Thomas’s descent, but barely, and she thought there might be movement over in the direction of the trail, but she couldn’t be sure. There was no way to warn Thomas.

  She closed her eyes against the agony of waiting. Father in heaven, we have no hope but You. Save us—we are Yours!

  Whickering again, Ladyslipper swung on her tether, ears pricked toward something off to the left. Not where Thomas had gone. Kate swallowed against the pounding in her throat and took a better grip on the pistol. Only one shot, and she’d nothing for reloading.

  She touched the knife, sheathed and tucked into her leggings as Thomas had carried it.

  Would Crying Bird try to steal Ladyslipper, or would he try to ferret them out first?

  For a few moments, there was only stillness. Ladyslipper tossed her head and snorted then peered into the brush again.

  ’Twas definitely not Thomas that the mare saw, or smelled. A lean figure eased its way under the trees toward the horse. Kate’s fingers flexed on the pistol grip. Should she try to stop him, or would Thomas—

  With a bloodcurdling screech, another figure launched from the side, colliding with the first, and the two men went rolling, scrabbling at each other. Kate sucked a breath to keep from releasing her own scream. Should she stay or—

  The tug of her heart was stronger than her fear, and holding tightly to the pistol, she scrambled from her perch and down the hill, as a grunt, growls, and an angry cry punctuated the night air.

  Crying Bird fought like a wildcat, as Thomas knew he would. But to his dim surprise, he found himself a match for the Shawnee brave and, after a frantic scuffle, had Crying Bird pinned to the ground.

  At least for the moment. Both of them were breathing hard, but the fury in Crying Bird’s gaze made it clear he’d not be down for long.

  Thomas dragged in a deep breath. “Stop this madness. For the sake of the bond that was once between us. For love of our people.”

  “There is no longer any bond between us,” Crying Bird snarled.

  “You were as a brother to me!” he roared back.

  “You are a traitor and no brother to me! I will cut out your heart and take your woman.”

  “And add to the bloodshed between our peoples? Do not do this—do not make me take your life!” “I am not making you do anything—but die!”

  Crying Bird bucked against his weight and got an arm free, landing a blow to the side of Thomas’s head. The forest blurred around him, and Crying Bird scrambled out of his grasp, then came up in a crouch, blade flashing in one hand.


  Pulling his own knife, Thomas dodged the blow he could feel coming even as Crying Bird lunged. But not fast enough. Fire lit across his arm and gut.

  Crying Bird stepped back, teeth bared, eyes gleaming. “See? You are too weak to fight. You—”

  There was a flash behind Crying Bird, a puff of smoke, and the crack of a pistol shot. The Shawnee brave staggered forward.

  Thomas caught him, wrenching the knife from his grip and dropping his own. His eyes wide now, Crying Bird’s mouth worked.

  “I am sorry, oh my brother,” Thomas whispered.

  A dark froth appeared on Crying Bird’s lips, and he collapsed.Thomas did his best to ease him to the ground, but—

  Oh God—nay—I did not want it to be like this!

  And suddenly Kate was there, kneeling beside them. “Is he—”

  Thomas shook his head. “Dead. And you—that was you?”

  He hauled her into his arms, and for a long time they could do naught but cling to each other.

  “I’ve nothing to bury him with,” Thomas murmured at last. “We’ll have to cover him with rocks.”

  Kate stirred and looked up at him. He fairly sagged with exhaustion. “We could wait until morning…”

  “Nay. Tonight or naught.”

  He trudged away to scout a place, and for lack of anything else to do, Kate retrieved the two hunting knives, still lying near the Shawnee warrior’s body, and then the pistol, where she’d dropped it, several paces away. The piece was still warm from firing.

  Had she really done that—to shoot so true that she took a man’s life? She’d been a fair enough shot when Papa had taken her out to teach, but—

  The enormity of it swept over her, and she dropped to her knees. God…oh Lord.

  “Kate?”

  Thomas knelt beside her, his hands gentle on her shoulders.

  “I—” She could hardly breathe. “I shot a man—”

  He pulled her into his arms again. “And you were very brave about it too.”

  “I could not bear that he hurt you.” She pulled away a little and looked at the stains on his shirt. “Wait. You’re hurt. How bad is it?”

  Thomas winced a little. “Not as bad as it could be. As it should have been, to be honest.” He kissed her softly. “Come. Let’s finish here and be gone.”

  They set themselves to the somber task of providing a decent burial for Crying Bird. Thomas found a rocky outcropping not far from their campsite, and after he’d found the Shawnee’s horse, wrapped the body in the blanket tied on his mount. It took close to an hour, by Kate’s reckoning, to find enough rocks to close the body in properly. Both she and Thomas were near to dropping from weariness by the time they finished.

  Neither of them wanted to linger, however. And Kate did not relish riding either horse alone in the dark, so when Thomas suggested they tie all their baggage on Crying Bird’s horse and both ride Ladyslipper, she readily agreed.

  Thomas led both horses down the hill until they reached the trail, then helped Kate mount first before swinging up behind her. “This way,” he murmured, “if you want to sleep, you can. I’ll hold you up.”

  “’Tisn’t like you haven’t done so before,” she whispered back, and she could see his smile even in the patchy moonlight.

  But her heart felt too heavy, her thoughts too full for sleep. They rode for a good while in silence, then as the moon rose to its zenith, Thomas began to speak about his family and various events during the war and after.

  Dawn was lightening the sky and the moon sank halfway to its resting place before Kate could close her eyes without seeing it again—Thomas and Crying Bird scuffling in the moonlight, and that terrible, wild slash of Crying Bird’s knife, and then him falling forward when she fired the pistol. Thomas was safe, she was safe, and that’s all she need worry about now.

  The next thing she knew, the rumble of Thomas’s voice was pulling her from slumber. “Kate, wake up. We’ve reached the river and need to take the ferry across.”

  She sat upright, swiped her hand across her face, and smoothed her hair as best she could. Dawn had turned to grey with the threat of rain.

  “Surprised to find them on the north bank this morning, already,” Thomas said.

  Normally, Kate knew, they’d have to ring the bell or halloo for the ferry to come across to get them. Thomas dismounted and, handing Kate the Shawnee horse’s lead, went to speak with the ferry operator. When he beckoned to her, she nudged Ladyslipper down the bank to the loading point. Thomas caught her as she slid down from the saddle, then led both horses onto the flat-bottomed boat.

  The crossing was uneventful. Thomas chatted with the two men who first poled the boat out into the current, then took up oars when the river became too deep. Besides the lapping of the water on the sides of the boat, the only other sounds were the calling of crows and the occasional snort of their horses.

  Kate sat at the edge and watched the water but could feel the occasional glances from the ferrymen. “Your wife?” one asked, finally.

  “Aye,” Thomas answered, with no hesitation, from just behind her.

  She could feel his presence even before he spoke, but after he said it, his fingers slid across her shoulder, and she reached up to cover his hand with her own.

  ’Twas the strangest thing, touching each other like this, and so openly… yet the most comfortable and natural. A shifting of the boat caused his leg to brush her side, and they stayed that way, leaning subtly against each other, until the ferry approached the other bank.

  Scattered buildings stood along the riverbank, some more weathered than others, and once they docked, Thomas thanked the ferrymen and led Kate on foot up the slope of the bank. “There’s a tavern that might let us a room for a few hours’ sleep.”

  More stares followed him, partly, she decided, for the oddity of a white woman in Shawnee clothing and partly for the bloodstains still darkening Thomas’s shirt body and sleeve. The first thing after finding a room would be getting water and tending his wounds, and she’d not let him say her nay this time.

  The tavernkeep looked reluctant until Thomas laid down extra coin. While he went to see to their horses, Kate asked for water and cleaning cloths and took them up to the room the tavernkeep indicated, along with the baggage they’d brought in. The room was dingy and wanted a good sweeping, but it would do after she spread Thomas’s blanket across the bed.

  She smoothed her fingers over the crown of her hair and down both braids. ‘Twas best to wait to comb it out until after they’d slept, but she hated feeling mussed.

  Thomas came in and shut and barred the door, then set the rest of their baggage on the floor and his rifle against the wall. His eyes came to hers, and despite the weariness so obviously pulling at him, a shy smile touched his face.

  She had to catch her own breath at the thought of the two of them, so perfectly alone. “Come, sit here by the window. Let me wash those cuts now.”

  He pulled off his hat and tossed it aside, then removed all the gear slung across his body, one or two at a time, and set them in a pile as well. With only the barest hesitation, he unbelted his shirt and stiffly drew it over his head.

  Kate’s breath stopped completely. She’d never seen him without a shirt, and now she knew why. Encircling his upper body was what looked like a fringed band of dark strands, but she realized were marks on the skin. Tattoos, likely from his time with the Shawnee.

  And a thin, reddish line traced down one arm and across his lean belly, still seeping blood.

  He watched her, his gaze guarded suddenly. “See? Always at least a little Shawnee.”

  Kate seized his hand and pulled him toward the window. “Sit.” Once he’d settled onto the rickety stool she’d placed there, she wrung out a cloth in the water and set to work, cleaning the cuts. Her eyes kept going back to that decorative band across his upper chest and arms, but she forced her attention to the wounds. “There’s none deep here, thankfully. A place or two that might bear stitching,
and I should wrap them at least.”

  His face remained impassive. “Do what you must.”

  She took the longest of the cloths given her and, with his help, wrapped that around his belly, then bound another around his arm. After tying that one off, she lingered, hesitating, then skimmed her fingertips across the markings just above it, spanning his upper arm. She could hear the catch in his breath, felt the tremor run through him at her touch, but when he didn’t object, she let herself trace the length of it, across his chest, around the other arm, and to the other side, across his back, under his hair.

  Another hesitation, and she lifted the length of it, a glossy dark brown, to see how the tattoo traced across his shoulder blades and a short distance down either side of his spine.

  “That’s—beautiful.”

  Thomas’s gaze glimmered, but still he said nothing. Rain pattered suddenly at the window, and on the roof.

  She let both hands linger on his shoulder. “And you think this makes you somehow—less whole? Less worthy?”

  Another long moment of silence.

  “I think—it rather makes you more.” She touched his hair again, smooth and silky under her fingertips. “And if you were not in jest in asking me—”

  She stopped, bit her lip. Could she say the words, and risk that he was?

  “In asking you what, Kate?” he asked softly. “To marry me?”

  She gave the tiniest nod.

  “Nay, I was not.” His hands, resting on his knees, twitched. As if—as if he wanted to reach for her as well. Because all his heart was in his eyes, or seemed to be. “Despite wondering how I could ask any woman to be my wife if I’ve no idea who I am or where I belong.”

  Kate swallowed. How many times had she thought similar things with all their travels—where she’d wind up, how many miles before she found a place to settle with a family of her own, not just with Papa and Mama, however much she loved them?

  “I—I’ve heard it said in scripture,” she said, “that we’re all strangers and pilgrims, journeying through this life. Is any place fully ours, before we reach heaven? And if—if that woman loves you enough, she’d be willing to follow you wherever you feel led to go. Like my mama has, with my papa. He was—well, he considered himself nothing, because of how he came to this country, and how they met, and Mama is descended from an old family that first came over on the Mayflower. But God brought them together and now—”