Her Cherokee Groom

by Valerie Hansen

  The ploy worked. The burly man whirled, distracted, wiping at his eyes. But how long would that hold him off?

  Annabelle had never in her life felt so powerless. So useless. As long as Charles’s adversary was the only one armed, there was no way she could be certain the Cherokee would prevail. Unless...

  Whipping off her cape she twirled it at arm’s length and watched it billow out. The man with the knife was temporarily distracted and Charles darted in to try to disarm him. They wrestled until the attacker whipped one arm to the side and threw Charles to the dirt.

  Annabelle could tell he was stunned when he landed. Johnny ran between his uncle and the knife-wielder, shouting and hitting him with the leafy branch.

  The man roared and stood tall, facing both Cherokees. He was taller and much bulkier than she was but as long as his attention was so focused on Charles, Annabelle knew she had the element of surprise on her side.

  With an unspoken prayer, she circled behind the big man, threw the cape over his head and yanked it down.

  Blinded and surrounded, he flailed and slashed at the silky material, cutting portions of it to ribbons and opening gaps that were almost wide enough to let him see his opponents.

  Annabelle screamed. Johnny rushed at the confused thug from one side, hitting him with a solid enough blow that he instinctively whirled to redirect his attack.

  That gave Charles enough time to get to his feet, knock the other man off balance and disarm him. He threw him to the ground facedown and pinned him there. “Give up and I won’t hurt you more.”

  Johnny was not so forgiving. “No! Hit him again!”

  Annabelle sympathized with the child, even after the thug stopped struggling, and she had to admire Charles’s self-control. She stood back, hands clenched once more, while he and Johnny tore strips from her ruined cape to truss up the would-be robber like a Christmas goose.

  “Keep a sharp lookout,” Charles warned, getting to his feet and taking a defensive stance with the other man’s knife. “There were two of them. I knocked one into the river but he could have climbed out by now.”

  “If he has half a wit he’s long gone,” she said. “What in the world were you doing out here all alone?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I followed Johnny,” she replied. “I’d written you a note asking you to visit and talk some sense into him before you left the city. I was on my way to the stables to ask someone to deliver it to you when I saw him running down the street. That changed everything.”

  Seeing the doubt reflected in his shadowed expression she said, “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” As she slipped her hand into her skirt pocket her self-assurance turned to chagrin. “Oh, dear, I don’t know what became of my note.”

  “How big was the paper?” Charles was scanning the nearby ground.

  Annabelle joined him. “Small. I had folded it so it would fit in my pocket. I doubt we’ll find it without a torch.”

  “Then forget it.” His brows arched. “I had thought the boy was in good company with you. Looks as though I’ll have to rethink my conclusion.”

  “We had both expected to find you at the boardinghouse, sir,” Annabelle countered, spine stiff and eyes blazing from his scolding. “If you had been there, none of this would have happened.”

  “Sadly, true.” He closed and pocketed the thug’s knife, then dusted off his clothing and his hands. “All right. I’ll escort you both home and then go report this fellow’s crimes.”

  “But, what if he gets loose and escapes while we’re gone? What if his friend comes back and frees him?”

  “That can’t be helped.” Charles slipped off his coat and shook it, then draped it over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. This will help.”

  “Thank you. My cape is ruined.”

  “Since you saved my life with it I will be delighted to replace it.”

  “I can’t let you do that. What would people say?”

  “That a gallant lady sacrificed her cape to rescue the victim of a mugging?”

  “I hardly see my part as being gallant. I was merely trying to keep the fight fair.”

  That made him laugh. “Have it your way. Just please allow me to buy you a new cape.”

  Annabelle sighed. “I suppose that can be arranged, if you insist. The Eatons always use the same wonderful seamstress, a Miss Mills. Her shop is in Arlington, but...” Her eyes widened and she faltered, staring up at her stalwart companion. “Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of what?”

  “No one knows I ventured out tonight. If Mrs. Eaton finds out from the dressmaker that I need a new cape, she will be furious with me. And perhaps with Johnny, too.”

  “Then we’ll simply keep this incident to ourselves and I’ll pay Miss Mills to do the same when I engage her,” Charles promised. “Right now, I think I should see you home so you can go back inside as if nothing has happened.”

  “I never lie.”

  “Then you are a truly exemplary lady,” he said, sounding amused. When he looked down at Johnny, however, his countenance sobered. “You will do as you’ve been told and stay out of trouble, Tsani. This is your home now and you will honor our tribe’s promises. Understand?”

  Annabelle saw the child nod and bow his head as if the weight of the world lay on his thin shoulders. Poor little thing. Truthfully, it would be just as well if she were not sent off to boarding school. Johnny needed her there.

  Her thoughts whirled and danced like moths drawn to a glowing lantern. She had prayed for guidance, assuming the answer lay merely in the choice of an alternate school. Now it was beginning to look as if her answer to those prayers was a resounding no, but for a very good reason. One that certainly countered the disappointment.

  Shivering as the excitement wore off and weariness lay heavy, she was thankful for many things. One was the Cherokee ambassador’s strong arm around her shoulders and his strength to lean against.

  Having been warned against allowing any grown man to touch her thus, she was terribly confused. Surely those admonitions did not apply to her current situation.

  Nothing that felt this right, this perfect, could possibly be wrong.

  Chapter Three

  “Were so many lamps burning in the house when you left?” Charles asked, pausing with his little group before escorting them back across New York Avenue.

  Annabelle shook her head. “No. Mrs. Eaton usually does needlework in the evenings and Mr. Eaton sometimes reads the newspaper or personal communications from the president, but the rest of the rooms are rarely lit.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I suspect they have missed you already.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It may not be as bad as it looks. I suggest you and the boy go back inside alone, though. Being seen with me will probably not be to your advantage.”

  “We did nothing wrong.”

  “You and I know that. Others may be harder to convince and I’m not looking forward to being lynched on my first diplomatic mission.”

  “Surely, if I tell the family you have assisted me they will understand.”

  “To do that you’d have to admit to having gone out after dark. Alone. Are you sure that’s wise?”

  She looked so crestfallen he had to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going straight to my elders to report the attack by the river. You go inside and tell the Eatons you and the boy just stepped out into the garden. That won’t be a lie.”

  “All right.”

  As he reclaimed his coat she tilted her face up to him and he could see moisture sparkling on her lashes. Against his better judgment he gently took her hands, noting that she was trembling. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait right here until you’re safely inside.”

  “Thank you for s
eeing us home.”

  “I should be the one thanking you for saving my neck. I’m sorry about your cape. I’ll send a messenger to the dressmaker for you first thing in the morning.”

  “A cape was a small price to pay for our victory over evil.”

  Let her go, his mind insisted. Step away from her and forget you ever met Annabelle Lang.

  But he would not, could not, do so. Although he assumed that this goodbye would be their last, he also knew she would linger in his thoughts and in his dreams for a long, long time. Being so taken with this innocent beauty had not only been a surprise, it had left him questioning his future without her.

  That notion was beyond ridiculous, of course. Even if he happened to be sent to Washington again, chances were good that Eaton would forbid them to court properly, meaning he would be fortunate to encounter her at all.

  That was one way in which Cherokee courtships and marriages were better. All a couple basically had to do was share a meal and exchange blankets and they were considered wed. Many of his kinsmen partook of two ceremonies, the Christian one and the tribal one, thereby satisfying both factions.

  What was he thinking! Charles asked himself, coming to his senses. He barely knew this girl.

  I’m far from home and lonely, that’s all, he insisted. There’s nothing wrong with me that being back in Georgia where I belong won’t fix.

  He purposefully released Annabelle’s hands and stepped away while donning his coat. To his chagrin the fabric retained her warmth and a trace of a sweet scent like roses. Just like Annabelle’s hair.

  “You’d better go in,” Charles said, sounding more brusque than he’d intended.

  She bowed her head demurely. “That’s wise. Good night. And God bless you, sir.”

  “He did that when He sent you to my aid.”

  “Perhaps because in my prayers I had asked to be of help to you and the boy. Are you a Christian, then?”

  “Yes. I went to the missionary school.”

  Her smile was so sweet, so tender, all Charles could do was stand there and watch her walk away. And with her went a tiny portion of his heart despite his firm decision to remain stoic.

  * * *

  Lucy, the heavyset, dusky-skinned cook, was in the kitchen poking the ashes of the stove to get them to ignite fresh fuel when Annabelle and Johnny entered. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Land sakes, girl. Where you been? Mr. John is tearin’ his hair.”

  “I—we—stepped out into the garden to look at the stars.”

  “Then why didn’t you come when he hollered for you?”

  “I guess I didn’t hear.” Annabelle’s guilty conscience nagged at her to explain further. If she hadn’t had little Johnny to protect she would have confessed without delay.

  “Well, get in there and let the mister know you’re all right. After the trouble tonight he’ll surely be glad to see you.”

  “Trouble? Because of me?”

  “Mercy, no.” The cook’s coffee-colored forehead knit above graying brows. “Somebody done made off with that fancy silver tea set the missus got from them Indians.” Her gaze darted to the boy, then quickly back to Annabelle. “He be with you all the time?”

  “Yes. Of course he was.”

  “If you say so. But Mr. John, he was plum mad, ’specially when he couldn’t find neither of you.”

  “Thank you, Lucy. We’ll go right in and set his mind at ease.” She reached for the boy’s hand and held tight, urging him to follow as she admonished, “You let me do all the talking.”

  Both Eatons were in the parlor when Annabelle entered. Their expressions contrasted; John’s being one mixing anger with relief while Margaret simply looked disgruntled.

  “Where have you been?” John demanded.

  “Out in the garden, looking at the stars.”

  Margaret pointed at the boy. “Him, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Chewing the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking into tears of shame, Annabelle stood very still and waited to be dismissed. She had no idea what had become of the silver set but she was certain the Cherokees had had nothing to do with it. Washington was a bustling city, filled with all kinds of riffraff, as demonstrated by the incident at the river. Undoubtedly, a criminal element like that had robbed the Eatons.

  “I have the servants checking the carriage house and the stables,” John said. “Go upstairs to your rooms and stay there. Both of you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Annabelle curtseyed politely.

  She was more than delighted to take her leave. This current Mrs. Eaton might be a special friend of President Jackson but she wasn’t kind and loving the way Annabelle’s first foster mother, Myra, had been. Oh, how she had wept when that dear lady had gone to Glory at such a young age.

  Climbing the spiral staircase with Johnny, Annabelle realized she was actually happier being ignored than being watched too closely. That revelation was a surprise. A welcome one. It not only helped her feel less unwanted, it gave her a sense of freedom she had never before sought or even imagined.

  “A servant will assist you getting ready for bed,” she told the child. “I’ll call Adams. He helps our father.”

  “I have no father,” Johnny said flatly. “And I can take care of myself.”

  “All right, whatever you say.” Annabelle continued to hold his hand until she said, “Remember. You promised to be good and stay here.”

  “I remember.”

  She hated to leave him alone looking so small and forlorn, yet she knew she must. With a deep sigh she eased the door closed and walked away. It was bound to be a long night for the child, not to mention how hard it was going to be for her to stop thinking about Charles McDonald’s narrow escape and her part in his rescue.

  She smiled to herself and gave a little shiver, then headed for her own room. Many nights she had prayed for a cessation of dreams but tonight she was eagerly looking forward to seeing if the handsome Cherokee would appear in them.

  Given a choice, she would definitely have wished to include him as a part of her nighttime imaginings.

  * * *

  Charles headed straight for the boardinghouse when he left Eaton’s. Instead of a quiet atmosphere, he found the male guests gathered in the sitting room, smoking and talking while uniformed soldiers in blue and police officers moved among them.

  “Where have you been?” Elias Boudinot asked Charles, speaking aside. “Tell me you weren’t near the river.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was. Why?”

  The shorter, slightly older man pulled him into a corner and spoke with a coarse whisper. “Don’t admit it. These men are out for blood, preferably ours.”

  “What for? What happened?”

  “Somebody got knifed tonight.”

  Charles felt the blade in his pocket, glad he hadn’t been a victim of the same kind of mayhem. “I’m not surprised. A couple of toughs came after me. It was only by the grace of God I managed to escape.”

  “Good thing you didn’t have a woman with you.”

  The hair on Charles’s nape prickled. “What do you mean?”

  “They say the dead man was all tangled up in a woman’s outer garment. It looked as if whoever killed him had rendered him helpless before driving a knife blade between his ribs.”

  Charles plopped onto the brocade-upholstered, horsehair sofa. “Say that again?”

  “It wasn’t a normal mugging. The victim was trussed up first, then murdered in cold blood. Worse, he was a soldier on leave.”

  There was nothing Charles could think to say or do other than sit there and stare. The man they had tied up had been alive and well when he, Annabelle and Johnny had left him. Charles knew she would swear to that—except she’d have to admit to having been on the scene if he asked for h
er support. And then what would happen to her already tenuous standing in the Eaton household?

  There was only one real problem as Charles saw it. The cape. If anyone recognized the fabric remnants left behind and questioned Annabelle, she’d be honor bound to tell the truth.

  As long as the police believed all her story, everything would be fine. If they chose to twist her words, however, his whole diplomatic mission could be in jeopardy, not to mention his neck. Murder was bad enough. The thought that a visiting Cherokee might have killed a Washington citizen, let alone a soldier, was far worse.

  Charles’s choices were poor on all counts. His tribe depended upon its ambassadors portraying an image of refinement and civility. So, what should he do? Tell the whole story and reveal the girl’s name? Keep mum and pray that nobody knew Annabelle had come looking for him? And what about Johnny? Suppose he remained with Eaton while Annabelle was ostracized?

  Agonizing over the unacceptable possibilities, Charles decided he could not sit there and let an innocent young woman suffer needlessly. He must slip out and return to warn her, even if it meant sneaking into the Eaton mansion and somehow using his nephew as a go-between. Then, if he and Annabelle could not see a solution to their dilemma, he would return to Plunkett’s and confess his part in the altercation being investigated.

  Leaving the sofa with the fluid movement of a skillful hunter, he was out of the room and headed for the back door without any of the soldiers noticing.

  Elias watched him go without a word.

  * * *

  Annabelle tossed and turned as sleep eluded her. She’d opened the windows partway to ventilate her stuffy bedroom and could hear voices coming from the yard below as well as from the mansion’s ground floor.

  Was that her name? Had someone just called to her?

  “Annabelle!”

  There it was again. Curiosity drew her to the open window, made her lean out and look down. “Charles? What are you...?”

  “Hush. There may be troops headed this way. I came to warn you.”

  “Why?”