by Unknown
It stood amongst the tall marsh grasses not four yards away, and it was huge. Even on all fours, its head was almost on a level with her own. Its coat was a glossy sable, its eyes a wicked, gleaming gold, and its mouth looked big enough to take her head off in one gulp. Danielle stared at the huge cat, mesmerized, and too petrified to move.
How long she stood there, eyes locked with those of the huge cat, she had no idea. Behind her, she heard Lavinia make several odd little squeaking noises, as if she was trying to scream. She made no sound whatsoever herself. She wasn't able. She didn't think she even breathed. There was a vast roaring in her ears. A vast emptiness of sheer terror in her mind.
Beside her, she caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. Adrian, she realized with a surge of profound relief as he edged slowly closer to her and finally stepped between her and the cat. The relief washed away almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a cold film of sweat on her skin and a new terror, for there was no relief in knowing Adrian might die in her place.
"Go," he said on a breath of sound. "Slowly."
She had no idea whether she ever intended to follow his orders or not. Regardless, she would have frozen into instant immobility in the next moment as the cat uttered another low, challenging snarl.
She saw in that moment both Panther and McDermont. Panther, to her incredulity, was stalking the monstrous animal. McDermont, she saw with even greater amazement, lifted his musket and took aim, then lowered it without firing. She stared at him for long, long moments, trying to comprehend what was transpiring. She couldn't. She thought even if terror hadn't driven her wits away, she was certain she could not have understood what they meant to do or why.
She had no real desire to try. She felt like screaming at them. Kill it! Kill it! But she didn't dare, even if she could have found her voice. Between the three men they had one knife, a wicked looking thing to be sure, but only a knife, and three shots. She wasn't certain that if the great beast sprang, any one of those weapons would find its mark. Or that it would stop the beast even then.
At that moment, it crouched to spring. Panther crouched also, and with a flying leap landed upon its back. Pandemonium ensued. Lavinia, finding her voice at last, screamed as if it were she and not the cat who had had that blade sunk into her. Adrian uttered a muffled oath and moved away, trying to find a clear shot of the beast when there was none, for Panther and the cat were a wild tangle of thrashing bodies now. Danielle cried out as well, knowing Panther would be shredded to ribbons in moments. McDermont, after staring fixedly at the fight for several moments, rushed forward to halt Adrian's intent.
"No. Leave be!" he growled, blocking Adrian.
"Are you insane! I thought he was your friend."
"Aye, he is. And more than that, for he's me wife's brother. But he'll not thank you for interfering. This is great medicine to his people. Aye," he said at Adrian's uncomprehending look. "I know you don't understand. I don't understand it myself. But that's neither here nor there. I don't interfere in a man's business. If the beast looks likely to get the best of him, I'll step in whether Panther likes it or no, rest assured of that. But not unless."
They came apart at last, and Panther rolled to his feet, crouched, his knife at the ready. Blood dripped from scores of gashes along his arms, chest and back. His breathing was uneven, but not labored. There was no stiffness in his movements as he circled the beast. His eyes were keen, his movements sparing but lethal.
The cat circled with him, spitting, screaming, lunging forward to swipe at him with paws nearly as big as his head and backing away again, for all the world like an overgrown house cat playing with a dangling bit of yarn. Panther proved, time and again, that he was quicker, more agile, than his namesake, the great, black swamp panther, slashing and drawing blood with lightening speed each time the cat lunged at him, until the ground ran red around them.
They began to tire. The cat ceased lunging and withdrew into a crouch, gathering strength to launch himself at his tormentor. Panther went into a low crouch as well, knife ready, waiting. Danielle slapped her hand to her mouth, holding back a scream as the great cat leapt at Panther with a blood curdling shriek, taking him to the ground. It snapped at him, grazing his shoulder with razor sharp teeth before Panther, circling its neck with his fingers, forced it away. Again and again, it went for his face, his shoulder, his neck, and each time Panther barely managed to avert a deadly bite.
He's lost his knife! Danielle thought suddenly. He's lost his knife! Oh, Mother Mary! Somebody do something! I've got to do something!
She might have said it aloud. She never knew, but at that moment Adrian grasped her in an iron hold, as if he'd known she would rush to Panther's aid if he didn't stop her, and in the same moment Panther forced the cat away and rolled atop it. Straddling it, he wrenched his knife from its chest, where Danielle saw it had been imbedded, and drove it through the soft pallet of the cat's throat and into its brain. It shuddered convulsively several times and went still.
Panther rose slowly, painfully to his feet, leaning forward with his palms braced on his knees for several moments while he fought the weakness to stand upright. No one else moved. They were frozen into stunned immobility by what they'd witnessed. No sound intruded other than Panther's harsh breathing and Lavinia's retching . . . and the sound of someone weeping.
Danielle felt more than a little ill herself . . . and awed . . . and both relieved and sad. A fierce gladness welled inside her for her friend, for his triumph. A sadness swept over her as well, to see so beautiful a creature destroyed.
She watched as Panther moved back to the dead beast and dropped to his knees beside it. Taking his knife, he uttered some chant in his native tongue and slashed a trophy from his kill--then quietly collapsed.
She moved then, throwing off Adrian's grip without any real awareness of her actions, reaching him first and dropping to her knees beside him. She was sobbing, she realized quite suddenly. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her shoulders, sitting back on her heels as she looked at McDermont, who'd knelt on his other side. "Is he . . . ?" She paused and bit her lip. "He's not going to die, is he?"
McDermont looked up at that, his eyes hard and searching. Apparently he found what he sought, for after a moment, he nodded, as if in satisfaction. "I wish I knew, lassie. I wish I knew . . . Aach, Panther lad, I fear you've done it now."
Danielle stared at McDermont for a long moment before she looked at Panther again, trying to make herself think what to do. "We've got to stop the bleedin'. We should wash the wounds first. Vicar Pugh always insisted on it. We've got to carry him down to the sea and wash his wounds." She looked around then, for Adrian, knowing he would be there when she needed him. He was always there when she needed him. Her look was beseeching.
He studied her silently, his expression unreadable, but finally he knelt and lifted Panther's shoulders. McDermont grasped his feet and between them they bore him to the beach and laid him carefully on the sand. Danielle tore the tail from her shirt and dipped it into the water. The first touch of the salt water upon his wounds brought him around with a jerk. Danielle looked at him in horror, realizing only then what she'd done. "Jiminey! I forgot the bleedin' salt! We need fresh water."
Panther gripped her wrist with surprising strength when she would have risen. "No. This is good. You are wise, Little Red Fox."
Danielle stared at him slack-jawed for several moments before she lifted her eyes to gaze in consternation at Adrian and McDermont. McDermont nodded almost imperceptibly and after a moment, Danielle looked at Panther once more. He had closed his eyes, but she didn't think he was unconscious. He wanted her to do it. He thought it would be good for him. Who was she to say that it wouldn't be? Certainly, it could not be good for his wounds to leave them unwashed.
She turned away, soaked the cloth again and set to work with a will. If it had to be done, and she had to do it, then the sooner done the better. Her stomach tied its
elf into knots. She'd seen the blood of many battles on the streets of London, including her own. And she'd seen wounds that looked as bad or worse. But what tied her into knots was the knowledge that she, herself, was inflicting pain on someone who was already in terrible pain, though he never made a sound nor indicated that he suffered in any way other than the involuntary tightening of muscles.
She tried to be careful, concentrating so fully upon the task that she was hardly aware when McDermont, after studying Adrian for several moments, suggested they go back to collect their things and make ready to leave. She nodded absently and cast a distracted glance after them as they left, but her thoughts were all focused upon the gashes that continued to well blood even as she bathed them.
She felt no embarrassment, even though she touched him more intimately than she'd ever touched any man save Adrian. She wasn't really aware of him as a man in those moments--or rather, not as a woman is aware of a man. She was only aware of him as someone in need, as a friend, for he'd become that. It made no difference that she'd known him only a matter of days. As Panther had so eloquently put it, their spirits had touched and a friendship had been bound between them even before their first words were spoken. Friendships like that were rare, but she didn't question it. She accepted it, just as Panther had.
When she was done, she cleaned the rag she'd used and tore it into strips to bind the worst of his wounds. It wasn't enough, however, to bind the wounds on his chest and back. She was on the point of tearing another piece from her rapidly diminishing shirt when she thought of her kerchief and dragged that from her breeches pocket instead. Tearing it into strips, she knotted them together, washed it thoroughly, and then bound the wounds on his chest and back with it. It couldn't be comfortable, she knew, but it was better than bleeding to death.
She sat back on her heels then and covered her face with her hands, biting her lip while she tried to think of something else she could do for him. She felt the touch of a hand on her wrist, circling it, and she lowered them, expecting to find Adrian. She found instead that it was Panther who held her wrist. Slowly, he slid his palm down to fit hers and squeezed it lightly. "My thanks, Little Red Fox. It is well."
With a half laugh, half sob, she brought his hand to her cheek, rubbing her cheek along his knuckles. His fingers were warm and a rush of relief filled her. Surely, she thought, his hands would be cold if the warmth of life was leaving him. "You give me a name, friend Panther?"
He nodded, his eyes glinting with some emotion she didn't understand.
"I am honored, friend," she said, knowing it was a sign that he thought well of her that he gifted her with a name of his people.
A sharp, sarcastic bark of laughter drew her attention and she looked up to discover that Lavinia was watching her. Blood rushed to her cheeks--a surge of anger, not embarrassment, though Lavinia misinterpreted it. "I thought you'd gone with the others," Danielle said stiffly.
Lavinia's grin widened. "Obviously. It's a shame Adrian rushed off in such a hurry to collect our things. It would have been so much more effective if he'd actually seen you fondling the savage. But one can't have everything. I don't expect I'll have too much trouble convincing him of what a slut you really are. I'm sure he's as aware as I am that the only reason you haven't thrown yourself at the savage before was from a lack of opportunity. But, what can one expect, after all, of such a low born creature as yourself?"
Danielle glared at her in tight-lipped silence for several moments. "I may be low born, but at least I'm not low-minded," she said tautly. "What a foul, despicable creature you are. But it's really not surprising you don't understand. You've never had a true friend in your entire life, have you?"
It was Lavinia's turn to glare. "You know nothing of it at all! How could you? We are worlds apart, you and I!"
"And I thank God and all the saints for it! I'm only sorry I can't put more distance between us!"
"My sentiments exactly," Adrian said, coming upon them then. "Perhaps your wish will even be granted. McDermont says we should reach Fort Frederica late today or early tomorrow." He turned to Lavinia then. "You had something you wished to tell me, I believe?"
Lavinia gaped at him a moment, wondering just how much of the conversation he'd overheard. It hardly seemed the best time to launch her campaign. In the first place, Adrian seemed less than receptive to being manipulated as she'd hoped. In the second, she hadn't had time to consider how best to phrase what she wanted to say so that she wouldn't sound as if she were carrying tales. In the third, she had the awful suspicion that, if he'd already overheard her, he was going to consider the tale pure malicious mischief and dismiss it out of hand. He spoke again before she could find the words she was searching for.
"I must tell you it's unnecessary. I believe I heard it all quite well. Enough in any event that I have a fair notion of what you wished to say. I only thought you might have something to add now that you have my undivided attention." He paused for several moments. "No? Then I believe we may safely drop the subject."
Danielle breathed a sigh of relief, not even realizing till that moment that she'd held her breath. She'd been afraid that Adrian wouldn't understand. He turned from Lavinia then, and their eyes locked. She knew then that her sigh of relief had been premature. Adrian did not understand at all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rounding a sharp bend, they came upon the fort. It seemed to spring at them full grown from the womb of the forest. Crouched on a slight bluff above them, it bristled with cannon that gleamed with deadly menace in the dying rays of the sun. A moat surrounded it, its waters so murky, its depth might have been no more than inches or bottomless. Above the moat rose the earthen works. Atop the mounds, a palisade of tall, pointed posts guarded the fort and veered off to surround Frederica Town beyond its eastern wall. And above it all flew the flag of mother England.
Staring at it, Danielle felt a sudden surge of emotion that was part homesickness, part homecoming. She looked back at Adrian, wondering if he, too, felt it. He was staring at the little corner of England just as she had, but, as if sensing her eyes upon him, he turned then and met her gaze for a long moment. The cold remoteness was still there, she saw with an ache of disappointment. She looked away again.
He hadn't questioned her about Lavinia's nasty implications. He'd hardly said two words to her since. She told herself that it was just as well.
The charge was ludicrous, and no one but a low-minded fool like Lavinia could have thought that there was something indecent about tending and comforting a man who might well have been dying, might yet die. A man who had saved them all from injury at the very least and likely their lives as well. She hadn't been caressing him. She'd been trying to stop him from bleeding to death. Adrian knew that.
But he obviously suspected that her concern was more than that of a friend for a friend. He must. No other explanation for his coldness presented itself, though she'd spent considerable thought on it.
She would have tried to explain her feelings for Panther, if he'd asked. But he hadn't, and after a time it occurred to her that it was doubtful she could make him understand anyway.
One couldn't understand greed or lust or love unless one had felt those things. And, by the same token, one judged others by one's own motivations. If one had never felt anything but lust or indifference towards persons of the opposite sex, then one automatically assumed everyone else felt the same way. Just as Lavinia had. Just as Adrian apparently did.
She felt a little ill at the thought. It occurred to her that since Adrian seemed to have come to despise her now, he might very well decide to sell her here after all. It was daunting to look upon the place they were about to enter as a perspective home. But, as it seemed a distinct possibility, she began to look at her surroundings with new eyes, trying to find something about the place to shore up her flagging spirits.
It wasn't really difficult with a little effort. It was crude, true, but neat and orderly as few plac
es in London were on her side of town. The fortress itself presented a comforting sense of permanency, though, according to McDermont, it had been built only six years before.
Rather than making for the short wharf that jutted out from the bank, they beached the dugout. Panther, Danielle discovered, would not come with them, and she took the time to say her goodbyes and give him her best wishes for a quick recovery as the others scrambled up the steep bank. Adrian surprised her by offering his hand, but if Panther was surprised by the gesture of friendship, he hid it well, gripping Adrian's hand readily. Adrian and Danielle joined Lavinia, Captain Tyler and McDermont then and made their way towards the fort leaving Panther to wait in the dugout for McDermont's return.
On closer scrutiny, Danielle discovered that part of the fort, at least, was made of more substantial stuff than she'd at first believed. The gate they approached was set into a structure built of similar material to the Spanish Mission they'd seen. They were challenged, and on McDermont's word, passed into a dark, cool corridor perhaps fifteen feet long and out a second gate. The structure they'd passed through housed, Danielle discovered later, the King's Magazine on the one end and the officer of the day's rooms and prison cells at the other. The parade ground lay before them, and, on either side of it, rising three stories, were storehouses made of the same material as the King's Magazine, a shell mortar called Tabby.
Lord Oglethorpe had been to Fort St. Andrews on an inspection and had sailed back to St. Simons Island and Fort Frederica only hours before their arrival. After a short debate with the officer in charge, it was decided that McDermont would proceed alone to give his report while the others stayed behind to 'rest'.