by Phoebe Conn
Jonah bucked and twisted in an effort to break free, but failed to dislodge the wily brave. He cursed loudly, and Hunter responded by grinding his face down into the dirt. "I'm not a patient man," the Indian revealed, before again pulling Jonah's head back at a dangerous angle.
His mouth full of sandy soil, Jonah spit and sputtered. Humiliated, he chose to give up rather than risk having his neck snapped by a foul-tempered Indian he had never expected to be so strong and fast. "Enough," he moaned grudgingly.
Hunter released him with another rude shove that sent Jonah's face slamming into the ground. The brave then rose and stepped away, but remained wary, just in case Jonah regretted his defeat and attempted another go at him. It wasn't until Jonah got to his feet and started off in the opposite direction, that Hunter began to relax.
Peter Bright handed Hunter a handkerchief. "That cut looks bad."
"It'll heal," Hunter insisted, but it was painful. He pressed the handkerchief against his brow to stem the flow of blood, while he searched the crowd for Blind Snake. He was positive he had seen the same evil snarl on the brave's face that he'd worn when he had waved a bloody scalp and shouted his name, but the Abenaki was nowhere to be found.
"Did you see an Indian here this afternoon?"
Peter looked puzzled. "Only you."
Peter was a good soul, but not the smartest man at the trading post, and Hunter didn't scold him for giving such a ridiculous answer. Not trusting the men who had organized the fight to give him a fair share, he waited while the money was being counted. It wasn't until he had pocketed his earnings that he turned toward the trading post, and saw Alanna and Elliott standing on the steps. He didn't know which of them looked more surprised, but what he saw in their shocked expressions looked close to disgust, and he knew they hadn't been favorably impressed to find him fighting.
He lifted the handkerchief from the cut, and when he felt no new blood oozing toward his eye, he stuffed the bloodstained square of linen into his belt. He picked up his shirt and carried it over to the bottom of the stairs. He eyed the Virginians with a suspicious glance, and waited for them to explain their reason for being there.
Elliott had seen enough of the fight to be reminded of the vicious streak Hunter had displayed last summer. He had admired the Indian's prowess then. Now, he thought him mean rather than courageous. "Didn't you receive my letters?" he asked accusingly.
"I got them."
"Then why didn't you answer?"
Hunter shook the dust from his shirt. "I had nothing to say."
Stunned by the inappropriateness of his response, Alanna could not help but stare. Physically, Hunter was still the same exceptionally handsome man—half-clothed, even more so—but his manner had changed so dramatically she scarcely knew what to expect. When he looked up at her, his icy gaze chilled her clear through.
"You had nothing to say about your own son?" she asked.
As surprised as when he'd first seen them, Hunter had to force himself to react calmly, rather than gape like a witless fool. "I have no children."
"I thought you said you got my letters," Elliott exclaimed.
Again searching for Blind Snake, Hunter glanced away, but there was still no sign of the belligerent brave. "I didn't read them," he finally admitted.
Alanna found it difficult to believe this aloof stranger was Christian's father, and she was deeply disappointed in him. When he had last bid her goodbye, she had actually believed that he really cared what happened to her. Apparently his kiss had meant nothing. "You told me if I ever needed you, to write to you here."
"You weren't the one who wrote to me."
His tone was insulting, and Alanna reacted with equal sarcasm. "You mean you would have answered had I written the letters rather than Elliott?"
Hunter continued to regard Alanna with an insolent gaze. He had not expected accusations from her, but there was a new pride to her bearing that had been absent in their last meeting. They had both changed in the intervening months, but he thought the difference in her an improvement.
"Yes," he replied. "I gave you my word. If you came all this way to hear me say I have no son, then I'm sorry for your trouble."
"You're not half as sorry as we are," Elliott declared. "Melissa's dead, and her son needs a father."
"That's her husband's concern, not mine."
Hunter had shown as little reaction to the mention of Melissa's death, as he had to the announcement of his son's birth. Alanna wondered if he was even listening to them. "The boy is clearly yours, Hunter."
No longer merely annoyed, Hunter's tone turned bitterly sarcastic. "No. Melissa swore to me the babe was Ian's."
Disgusted, he started to turn away, but Alanna hurried down the steps and caught his elbow. "Don't you care that Melissa's dead, or that you have a son?"
Her hand looked very small and white against the burnished copper of his arm. Knowing the color of their skin was the least of their differences, Hunter made no attempt to hide his distress, as he replied in a voice too low for Elliott to overhear. "Why didn't you write to me?"
That he would criticize the manner in which they had tried to contact him, rather than respond to the message their letters had contained, astonished Alanna. "You really don't care about Melissa or your son, do you?"
That she had ignored his question, incensed Hunter all the more. "Why should I? Melissa cared nothing for me."
Elliott walked up behind her, but Alanna wasn't content to allow him to handle what she feared was a rapidly deteriorating situation. Hoping that perhaps Hunter was as flustered by their news as she had been by Elliott's mention of marriage, she softened her tone. "Please, take some time to think about what we've said. Can we meet again later and talk?"
"I have nothing more to say."
"Well, we have," Elliott informed him coldly. "Go clean up and meet us back here in an hour."
Hunter didn't have to glance around the courtyard to know they ware being observed. He could feel it. No one had dared come close enough to overhear them, and he did not want to present any curious bystanders with an opportunity to do so. "No, come with me to my house. We can talk there."
Alanna and Elliott hesitated a moment, but when Hunter turned away and did not look back, they followed. Not expecting an extended visit, each had brought only a small bag, and Elliott carried them easily. Dismayed, Alanna whispered to her cousin, "How can he not care?"
Elliott just shook his head to warn her to be silent. Torn between the anger that made him want to rip Hunter limb from limb, and relief at the fact that the Indian had shown no interest in rearing his son, Elliott tried to decide how best to proceed. At the very least, he wanted Hunter's written statement that he was renouncing all claim to his child. Then, having provided Alanna with the assurance that she would be the one to raise Christian, he hoped he could convince her to become his wife.
When they reached his long house, Hunter held aside the hide draped over the doorway and gestured for them to precede him. Neither of his reluctant guests had ever seen such a dwelling, much less entered one, but they ducked slightly and stepped inside. With the only illumination coming from the coals glowing in the fire pit and the opening in the roof above, the interior was dim.
The contrast to the bright, sunlit rooms where Alanna hoped to raise Christian gave her a moment's pause. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and she noticed Hunter hadn't followed them into his home. She looked around and noted the bundles of furs rolled up beneath the platforms, which lined the walls.
"It looks as though Hunter has been busy."
Elliott set their luggage down on the nearest platform. "It isn't the first time. No one can call the man lazy."
Alanna was too embarrassed to respond to what was clearly a reference to the speed with which Hunter had seduced Melissa, and changed the subject. "Are we handling this badly?" she asked instead.
"Probably, but that may be the only way such a deplorable situation can be handled."
At a loss for what to do or say, Alanna perched herself down next to her valise. The months of dread were over, but Hunter's indifference had shocked and disappointed her. "I was so certain that he really cared for Melissa, but now..."
When she didn't continue, Elliott finished her sentence for her. "Now it's plain he cares for nothing but himself. We worked so hard on the wording of those letters and he didn't even read them. It's plain we care far more about Christian than he ever will."
Hunter entered before Alanna could reply. He had washed up outside, and his hair, still wet, was tied neatly at his nape. He'd shaken the dust from his pants, donned his shirt, and despite the cut through his brow, now looked the way she had remembered him.
"Why were you fighting?" she asked.
"Because I'm good at it."
"You wouldn't have been hurt, if you were all that good," Elliott pointed out.
Preoccupied, Hunter chose to ignore that taunt. "Do you remember the Indians who attacked the end of our column last July, and killed the wounded?"
"Of course."
"One of them was here this afternoon. I want to go look for him."
"Do it later," Elliott advised. "We've something far more important to settle right here."
Elliott sat down next to Alanna, but Hunter remained standing. "Let Ian settle it," the brave said.
"He's gone home to London," Alanna explained. "We hired a woman to look after your son, and waited for you to come for him. If you'd read our letters, you would have known that. Because you didn't respond, we felt we had to come here."
"You should have stayed home."
"Would you rather have never known that you had fathered a child?"
When Hunter looked away, apparently bored by her question, Alanna lost patience with him. "Christian is a beautiful boy. I know you'd be proud of him."
"Christian?" Hunter laughed. "I'd never name a son that."
Hoping that sarcastic boast could be construed as interest, Alanna tried again. "Christian was my brother's name. That's why Melissa chose it, but if you'd rather call him something else, you certainly may."
"I have no need of names, because I have no son."
Hunter was being flippant, and Elliott decided to adopt the same attitude. "Fine," he agreed. "Then you should have no objection to saying so in writing, so the boy can be adopted by another man."
Such a request struck Hunter as absurd. "If I swear the boy is not mine, and Melissa swore to me that he wasn't, won't you have to search for a man who will claim the child?"
"There is no other man," Elliott informed him. "The boy is clearly yours."
"But you want me to say that he isn't?"
"Forgive me if I confused you. All we need for you to say is that you have no wish to raise Christian. Then another man can legally assume that responsibility."
"Not Ian?"
"No, not Ian, although the boy owes his life to him, as it was Ian who delivered the child after Melissa died. It wasn't until later that he realized the baby he had saved wasn't his."
"Then Melissa lied to him, too."
"She was my sister, Hunter. Try and remember that."
Hunter looked Elliott straight in the eye. "She was a lying bitch, and any tears you shed for her were wasted."
Elliott leapt to his feet with his arms outstretched, clearly going for Hunter's throat, but the Indian backed away, drawing him outside where his home and possessions would suffer no damage during an exchange of blows. The small clearing in front of his house formed a perfect arena, but after having had one fight that day, Hunter had little enthusiasm for another bout.
Alanna followed the men outside. She had seen enough of Hunter's fight with Jonah Bramen to fear that Elliott was badly outmatched, but rather than unleash the brutality she had glimpsed earlier, the Indian dodged her cousin's blows without throwing any of his own. He was agile and escaped being hit with apparent ease. She understood Elliott's wish to defend Melissa, and made no move to interfere, but she looked around for a fallen branch or anything else within reach, which she might use as a club should the need arise.
When Elliott realized that Hunter wasn't going to do more than defend himself, he dropped back. "What's the matter? Won't you fight, if you're not being paid?"
"No. Melissa just isn't worth fighting over."
"You bastard!"
Outraged, Elliott changed his strategy and, rather than attempt to punish Hunter with his fists, he rushed him, grabbed him around the waist, and wrestled him to the ground. He managed to reopen the cut above the Indian's eye, but that was the only harm he did him before Hunter grabbed his wrists, threw him to the side, and scrambled to his feet. He glanced toward Alanna, nodded, and again backed away.
Elliott rose just as quickly and would have gone after him again, but this time Alanna rushed forward to stop him. "Look, he's already hurt, and there's no point in continuing this until you're hurt, too. It won't solve anything."
Elliott pried her fingers from his sleeve. "I won't let him talk that way about Melissa. She's dead because of him, and I don't intend to let him forget it."
Again, Alanna moved between the two men. "I doubt he ever will, but what difference will words make to Melissa? She'll never hear them. I thought we came here to provide for Christian, not to avenge Melissa's death. Or were you just telling me what you knew I wanted to hear?"
Elliott continued to glare at Hunter, while he tried to decide how to answer Alanna's question without admitting she had guessed the truth. Finally he found a way. "I did come here because of the boy. Hunter's the one who started this. You ought to be angry with him, not me."
Alanna glanced over her shoulder at Hunter. The whole right side of his face was now awash in blood, and tending his wound was suddenly more important than convincing Elliott to stop trading accusations. "Come over here and sit down," she ordered brusquely. "It won't do any of us any good, if you bleed to death."
Hunter was beginning to feel sick to his stomach and when Elliott relaxed his stance, he ceased to worry about him. He followed Alanna back to the front of his house, and sat down beside the barrel of rainwater where he had washed up earlier. He still had Peter Bright's bloody handkerchief and handed it to her.
"Don't you have anything else?" she asked.
Hunter just shook his head and leaned back against the barrel.
Elliott stepped forward to offer his clean handkerchief. "Here, use this."
Alanna dropped Peter's soiled handkerchief and dipped Elliott's into the rainwater. After wringing it out, she knelt beside Hunter and held it against his brow. "You should probably have stitches."
Hunter replied with a distracted grunt.
"I suppose you think gruesome scars are handsome?"
She was only inches away, and when Hunter looked up at her, the concern mirrored in her beautiful green eyes surprised him. "You should have been the one to write," he said again.
"She had better things to do with her time," Elliott answered for her.
"Just you hush, Elliott," Alanna scolded.
"Can't you see what he's doing?" Elliott chided. "He's not content to have ruined Melissa's life. Now he's trying to do the same thing to you."
Unwilling to believe Hunter would ever consider seducing her, even if he felt up to it, which she doubted, Alanna rose, rinsed out the handkerchief, and used it to wipe the blood from Hunter's face. This time she took great care to concentrate on her task without really looking at him, but touching him brought a flush to her cheeks that wasn't due to embarrassment. His skin was warm, and his blood was as red as Melissa's. With that realization, his face began to swim before her eyes.
"I'm afraid I can't do this," she whispered, but before she could hand the handkerchief to Hunter, she fainted across his lap.
"Now look what you've done!" Elliott cried. He knelt beside Hunter, meaning to take Alanna from his arms, but the Indian pulled her into a tight embrace. "Let me have her," Elliott demanded. "I'll take her inside where
she can lie down."
"No, she's better off out here in the air."
Thinking that might be true, Elliott still had an objection. "Well, it's certainly not going to help her any to wake up and get another look at you. Had someone split your head with an ax, I doubt you'd look worse."
Hunter handed Elliott the damp handkerchief. "Then rinse this out, and I'll take care of myself."
"She's my woman. You understand that?"
"I once asked Melissa if you two were in love. She said no."
"Well that was another of her mistakes, because we are." Elliott grabbed the handkerchief, decided it was beyond rinsing, and went inside the long house to fetch another from his valise.
Left alone with Alanna, if only for a few seconds, Hunter leaned down to kiss her lips lightly. Thinking it might be the only opportunity he would ever have to take such a liberty, he quickly kissed her again, but when Elliott returned, he was staring off into the forest, rather than gazing at the beautiful young woman in his arms.
Chapter 17
As the smoky haze of unconsciousness began to lighten, Alanna gradually became aware of the tangy scent of pine filling the air, and then the high-pitched chatter of squirrels dashing from tree to tree in an endless game of tag. In a soothing contrast to their raucous rhythm, she felt the slow, steady beat of Hunter's heart through his soft buckskin shirt.
How had she come to be in his arms? she wondered. That was the last place she belonged, but his easy embrace was so comfortable, she continued to lie still. He was tracing gentle circles across her back, which felt too good to end; and she was also far more tired than she had thought.
Hunter saw Alanna's eyelashes flutter slightly, but made no move to shake her awake. He had not held a woman in a long time, and she felt too warm and sweet to release until he absolutely had to. Elliott was talking about the need for him to relinquish all claim to his son, but he was only half-listening.