by Phoebe Conn
"Jacob, leave him alone. He's a scout Byron and Elliott hired."
For several seconds the blacksmith seemed not to have heard Alanna's command, but then he lowered the tongs, frowned darkly, and ambled over to her. "I should have been told, Miss Alanna," he began without bothering with a polite greeting. "None of us expects to find Indians creeping around here."
"Is that what he was doing, 'creeping around'?"
Jacob shrugged. "He left the barn like he was up to no good. Maybe we ought to go check on the horses."
Having just come from the barn, Alanna was understandably shocked by Jacob's comment. Hunter hadn't moved, but was watching them closely, and came forward when she motioned for him to do so. "Jacob says you were in the barn just now. Why didn't I see you?"
"Are all of Byron and Elliott's friends treated like thieves?"
"Please just answer my question," Alanna replied in a softer tone.
Hunter nodded toward Jacob. "It's no business of his what I do."
Insulted, Jacob widened his stance, and Alanna quickly dismissed him rather than allow the two men to come to blows. Clearly disgruntled, the blacksmith started toward his forge, but before reaching it he turned back and shot Hunter a disgusted glance, deliberately taunting him to follow. Alanna gasped, thinking the Indian might do just that, but his gaze had never left her face and he had failed to note the provocative gesture. That realization was even more alarming than how quickly he had made an enemy of Jacob McBride.
"Why didn't I see you in the barn?" she repeated.
"You were the one who suggested we avoid each other," Hunter reminded her.
"So you were merely avoiding me, rather than hiding?"
"I was hiding to avoid you!"
Appalled by that flash of temper, Alanna stepped back to put more distance between them. Elliott had praised Hunter's tracking skills, but failed to mention that he had such an obnoxious personality. The Indian had been polite rather than rude the first time they had spoken together, however, and when she noticed the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat, she was stunned by the sudden awareness that despite his show of ill-tempered bravado, Jacob had frightened him.
She regarded Indians as the most fearsome creatures ever to stalk the earth, and had never even imagined they could be frightened by anyone, or anything, they encountered. That this man was as human in his responses as the other men she knew was almost beyond her comprehension, but she made a serious attempt to grasp the possibility. She looked away for a moment in hopes of seeing their confrontation from Hunter's point of view. It did not take long for her to understand why he had been so insulted.
"I'm sorry Jacob reacted to you in such a threatening manner. You're the first Indian we've ever had staying here, and he obviously assumed the worst. I'll see the others are told you're a guest."
Believing it must have hurt her pride to apologize to him, Hunter tried to be equally gracious, but all he could manage was a stilted nod.
Elliott had made a point of impressing Alanna with Hunter's importance, and she felt badly that his feelings had been hurt unnecessarily. "Would you like to take another look at the horses?"
In light of his earlier experience with her, Hunter could not help but suspect her motives, and he grew cautious. "Are there stable boys who will come after me with pitchforks?"
Alanna doubted he was teasing and tried to allay his fears. "There are two stable boys, and they do use pitchforks to clean out the stalls, but if you're with me, you'll be safe."
"You want to show me the horses yourself?"
Alanna knew he had every right to be incredulous, because she had been only slightly less hostile than Jacob when he had been introduced to her, but damn it all, he was an Indian! Her eyes started to fill with tears, and she bit her lower lip to force them away. Although she supposed she deserved his sarcastic question, it seemed very unfair.
"I won't force my company on you," she assured him. "There I s a barrel of apples to the right of the main doors. Hand them out the way I did, and you'll easily make friends. I'll find the stable boys, and tell them you're welcome here. I'll make certain everyone who works for us gets that message."
Fearing he had just ruined whatever slim hope he might have had to make friends with her, Hunter tried to think of some way to let her know how much he would enjoy her company. Before he could, Melissa appeared, and the opportunity was lost. She was smiling prettily as she approached them, but her warmth did not erase his guilt at having spoken harshly with Alanna.
"Breakfast is ready, and Byron and Elliott are waiting for you. We're all going to ride into Williamsburg after we've eaten. You want to come along with us, don't you?"
"Will the townspeople stare at me?"
"Probably, but you're very handsome, so why should you mind?"
Distracted by Melissa's flattering compliment, Hunter agreed to visit Williamsburg as they walked back to the house. He didn't notice that Alanna hadn't followed them until they reached the dining room, and then what she thought of him was all too clear. She might have chosen to avoid him again, but with Melissa's charming attentions, Hunter's resulting embarrassment quickly faded.
As promised, Alanna informed the stable boys that her cousins were entertaining an Indian scout, whom they were to treat with the utmost respect. She then sent them off to tell any of the other employees who hadn't heard about Hunter's arrival the previous evening. She seldom went into Williamsburg, and knew neither her cousins nor their Indian friend would miss her that day. She busied herself helping to make bayberry candles, and whenever her thoughts strayed to the attractive brave, she quickly banished them from her mind.
* * *
After a fire destroyed Jamestown's fourth statehouse at the close of the seventeenth century, the capitol of the Virginia Colony was moved to a settlement known as Middle Plantation, and renamed Williamsburg in honor of King William III. Built on a plan devised by the presiding Royal Governor, Francis Nicholson, the city soon grew to be a model of beauty and prosperity.
The hub of a plantation economy, Williamsburg resembled towns in agricultural areas of England more closely than did any of the large cities of New England. The main street was named for the Duke of Gloucester, and connected the Wren Building at the College of William and Mary with the new capitol building nearly a mile away. The streets running parallel to the main boulevard, Francis and Nicholson, paid tribute to the city's designer.
Charming frame houses were built on half-acre lots and required to have fences to keep stray animals out of the homeowners' gardens. All manner of shops dispensed the latest in goods and fashion, while Market Square was the site of auctions and fairs. Taverns were popular places for those with leisure hours to enjoy. Bruton Parish Church provided for the spiritual needs of the city's faithful.
Hunter entered the outskirts of the picturesque town not really knowing what to expect, but determined not to stray far from the Barclays. While he did not relish the prospect, he did not really mind being stared at by curious strangers. It was being treated like a stray dog—as Jacob had regarded him that morning—that he could not abide. Without warning, the memory of that unfortunate incident intruded upon his thoughts and his expression darkened.
Melissa loved to ride, and she was delighted to find Hunter was an expert horseman. When her two brothers urged their bay geldings out in front to narrow their procession, she was quick to start a conversation with the Indian. "I know you're at home in the woods, but have you seen many of our towns?" she inquired.
"A few."
"Are they anything like Indian villages?"
Hunter shook his head. "The Iroquois build houses of wood and surround them with stockades. They are like your forts, with corn and squash fields outside the gates, not open like this city."
"You grew up inside a fort?"
Melissa's question made Hunter smile. "No, we're not confined to the space we have chosen to defend from our enemies. I was free to hunt, to explore, to learn whatever I
could."
Both of her brothers were graduates of the College of William and Mary, but she had had ample opportunity to observe how they treated Hunter as an equal. "You didn't go to school?"
"My father taught me everything I needed to know to be a Seneca warrior. Whatever I have needed to learn to deal with white men, I have taught myself."
He was obviously proud of that accomplishment. In sharp contrast to the bronze of his skin, his teeth were very white, creating one of the most charming grins Melissa had ever seen. She was unsure just how much the appealing brave did know, but he possessed a confident manner she could not help but admire. She was pleased to have him for an escort. It would surely be the talk of the town by evening, and she hoped the tale would prompt another visit from Ian Scott. She was fond of the English officer, as he was far more entertaining than any of the young men she had known since childhood.
Upon entering Williamsburg, the Barclay brothers continued to lead the way down Gloucester Street. It was now mid-morning, and they waved and called out greetings to acquaintances passing by on the street. Their first stop was to inquire if there had been any change in the militia's plans, and to introduce Hunter to the others who would be traveling with them to join Lt. Col. George Washington's expedition into the Ohio Valley. An advance party of forty frontiersmen had already been sent out to begin construction of a fort at the junction of the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers, and Byron and Elliott were anxious to join them.
Hunter understood how vital a part the new fort would play in securing the Ohio Valley for the British, but while his young friends appeared eager to help build it, he did not think they appreciated how violent the French opposition would surely be. Building a fort was merely the preliminary goal, in his view, defending it would be a far greater challenge. Because he had not been hired to be an officer and plan strategy, he offered no opinions on the subject, but he was convinced his grasp of the situation was far more realistic than the Barclays'.
Their primary reason for the visit to Williamsburg complete, the Barclays began to attend to more personal business. Byron needed to stop at the boot-makers, and with Melissa's urging, Hunter accompanied them inside. The sharp smell of newly tanned leather reminded him of home, but he stayed well out of the way until Byron paid for the new pair of boots he had ordered.
"You'll not need new boots where we're going," Hunter then advised.
"I know better than to wear new boots in the wilderness," Byron assured him, "but these will be waiting for me when I get home."
Hunter was tempted, but did not tease the young man about his probability of returning home. The boot-maker had been too busy to notice him until that exchange. Clearly astonished to look up and find an Indian in his shop, his mouth fell agape, and Hunter winked at him before going out the door. He suspected the man would be talking about him all week, but he did not care.
Melissa wanted to stop at the basket shop next, and Hunter remained outside with her brothers while she went inside. She soon returned with an attractive basket she tied behind her saddle. She needed perfume, then fancy lace handkerchiefs and ribbons, and before long Hunter had lost track of how many shops she had stopped to visit.
Elliott feared Hunter was growing bored. "Do Indian women enjoy going into town as much as Melissa?" he asked.
"No, there's no need. They make the clothes and moccasins they wear and most of the implements they use themselves." He thought about the sheltered lives of Seneca maidens, and pained by how little they knew of the world outside their tribe, he rephrased his reply. "Few ever visit more than a trading post, but I think they would like coming to a place like this just to see it."
Their last stop was at a fabric shop which sold expensive imported silks and satins, but after perusing their latest shipment for half an hour, Melissa left without making a purchase. By then her brothers were ready to visit the Raleigh Tavern, where they were certain to find several of their friends. Melissa often attended elegant private parties there in the Daphne Room, but she had absolutely no desire to enter the tavern proper. Her brothers had already dismounted, but Hunter still sat astride his horse, and she quickly offered him an alternative.
"Would you rather come home with me now rather than stay here with them? I noticed you didn't touch your wine last night. If you don't drink, you might feel rather out of place in a tavern."
Hunter felt out of place whenever he left the forest, but he had learned simply to ignore that uncomfortable feeling and go wherever he chose, because it enabled him to learn far more than if he remained solely in the company of his own kind. In this case, however, Melissa was correct: he had no desire to drink or watch other men get drunk.
"If you want to go home, I will ride with you," he offered.
Byron and Elliott exchanged a worried glance in which it was obvious they doubted the wisdom of allowing Melissa to return home with such an unusual escort. They might have refused to allow it, but lured by the greetings of their friends, they were in a hurry to enter the tavern, and Byron dismissed his sister with a brief bit of advice. "Go straight home, and if anyone bothers you, tell them Hunter is a scout for the militia."
"I don't need a woman to speak for me," Hunter insisted, despite the fact that he had been very glad to have Alanna call off Jacob before he had been forced to remove the tongs from the blacksmith's hand and crush his skull with them. "I will see that she gets home safely."
"We know that you will," Elliott called back over his shoulder, then followed Byron into the popular tavern.
Hunter looked up and down Gloucester Street, and confident he had seen the most interesting part of Williamsburg, he turned his horse toward the road they had taken into town. Melissa brought her mare up beside him, and while Hunter saw more than one disapproving frown as they rode along, he was pleased to have the charming young lady all to himself.
"Is Lieutenant Scott your sweetheart?" he asked.
Melissa could not help but blush as she offered a thoughtful reply. "No, not really. I know that he likes me, but we're merely friends, not sweethearts. That word implies far more."
Intrigued by her uncharacteristically demure response, Hunter pursued the matter. "More what?"
Melissa licked her lips before attempting to explain. She had made the tantalizing gesture so often, she was unaware she had just done it again. "A romantic element," she speculated softly. "Sweethearts are in love."
"And friends are not?"
"No, if friends are in love, then they're sweethearts," Melissa broke into teasing giggles, as she glanced toward the handsome brave. "I can't imagine sweethearts not being friends first, but there are several men I consider good friends, and none is a sweetheart."
"Do you consider me a friend?"
"We've only just met, but yes, I think we're becoming friends. My brothers like and trust you, and they always choose their friends wisely."
"We're not talking about Byron and Elliott," Hunter pointed out with a sly smile. "We're talking about you and me."
When presented with the opportunity, Melissa had swiftly arranged to ride home with him, but she had not expected him to ask such embarrassing questions. She was accustomed to men like Ian Scott, who were gentlemanly in all their words and actions. But Hunter was an Indian, and she really had no idea what to expect from him. A confident young woman, she attempted to bluff her way out of her present predicament.
"I can make up my own mind," she responded flippantly. "But what about you, do you have an Indian sweetheart?"
Hunter paused as though he had to give considerable thought to her question. Finally he glanced toward her. "No."
"Why not? You're very nice-looking. Aren't Indian girls equally attractive?"
"Yes, many are very beautiful, but I'm seldom home, and sweethearts need a great deal of attention, or they become unhappy and begin to look for someone else to love."
Surprised that he understood how greatly women appreciated a man's attentive company, Melissa relaxed slightly.
"Did you lose a sweetheart to another brave?"
Hunter eyed the charming girl with a suggestive glance. "Only one, and I don't miss her."
Melissa had always felt her ability to flirt was as natural a gift as her beauty, but she had never before met a man who could answer her teasing questions in a more provocation fashion than she had asked them. Hunter did it with such masterful ease, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to take flirting another step and kiss him. Such a prospect shocked her for only a few seconds, and then she realized Hunter would soon be leaving with her brothers and probably not return for several months, if ever.
What difference would it make if she kissed him a time or two? No one would ever know, and it would be such a delicious secret. She smiled, and spoke with well-practiced innocence. "I can't believe that she doesn't miss you."
Hunter stared straight at Melissa. "Will you miss me?"
His dark eyes promised that she most definitely would, and lost in his seductive gaze, Melissa forgot everything she had been carefully taught to remember. Rather than an Indian brave, she saw only a dashing young man who excited her senses as no proper gentleman, colonial or English, had ever done. Without a conscious thought, she drew her mare to a halt.
Hunter did not need any further urging to also stop his mount. He reached out to cup Melissa's chin in his palm, then leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were very soft, her taste sweet, and one kiss was not nearly enough. They exchanged half a dozen before she drew away.
Suddenly recalling that they were in the middle of a public road, Melissa gasped sharply and turned to look for a more private spot. A convenient stand of cottonwood trees beckoned invitingly, and she knew without having to ask that Hunter would follow her when she urged her mare toward them. The grass was thick here, the shade deep, and when Hunter grasped her around the waist to pull her from her saddle, she went into his arms more than willingly.