Sundancer's Woman

by Judith E. French

Hunt touched her lightly, and she stared at him wide-eyed.

  “Do as he says,” Hunt advised. “You asked for this. I didn’t—”

  But his words were lost in the quick throb of war drums, the cries of painted warriors, and the stamp of moccasined feet in the dust of the dance ground. Giddy with apprehension, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led away by a strange woman. This was all beyond her understanding. The one thing she did know was that somehow she was finally on her way back to her beloved children.

  Chapter 17

  Ten days later, Elizabeth lay facedown on a rise overlooking the shallow river crossing near Yellow Drum’s walled village. It was not long after noon; the elusive sun peeking through heavy gray clouds was nearly overhead. Every muscle in her body ached. She knew she should have been glad of the rest after marching for so many days through the forest to Seneca land, but she’d been lying there watching the trail since dawn and her joints were stiff.

  She’d been incredulous when the Shawnee war chief, Fire Talon, had declared her a man, but his actions and those of every warrior in their party except Hunt had seemed to accept the notion. She’d been treated no differently than any other brave. If any man felt a woman was out of place, he’d never voiced it by word or gesture.

  She’d been assigned no more camp or cooking duty than any of the other Shawnee, and she’d done her share of night guard duty with Hunt as her partner. In the long days of walking and the nights of companionship around the campfire, she’d wished that she could understand the Shawnee language so that she could enjoy their jokes and stories. Hunt had tried to explain as best he could, but some things lost their humor in the translation.

  As he had warned her back in the Shawnee village, there was no time for them to be alone. The hours of night watch were agony. She stood on one side of the sleeping camp; he crouched on the other. All day long, she secretly watched him, marveling at his tireless strides and his ease among these fierce warriors. Hunt moved through the forest as silently as a shadow, radiating animal grace and quiet power. But as badly as she wanted to be held in his arms, they could not touch or kiss or even whisper together. And as much pleasure as it gave her to gaze on him, the watching was not enough; she wanted him so badly that she could hardly think of anything else.

  After weeks of heartrending terror that she might never see Jamie and Rachel again, she was going to rescue them. Every man in the raiding party had risked his life for her children’s freedom ... and she couldn’t rid her mind of carnal thoughts of Hunt Campbell.

  The sound of his voice made her giddy; being near him caused her to drop objects, stammer, and smile foolishly until her jaws ached. He invaded her sleep and haunted her daydreams. Just thinking about him could make her cheeks hot and her skin so sensitive that she couldn’t bear the feel of her buckskin hunting shirt rubbing against her breasts and shoulders. If she wasn’t walking so far every day—and eating like a bear—she would have believed she was sick.

  Instead, she was faced with only one logical conclusion. She was in love with Hunt ... madly, head-over-heels, struck-by-lightning in love with a steely-eyed rifleman who cared for nothing but the softness between her thighs and the money her father had promised to pay for her return.

  Below, on the trail, something moved. A Seneca woman, accompanied by a dog, walked around a bend toward the water’s edge. Elizabeth tensed and tried to identify the woman.

  Hunt laid a hand lightly on Elizabeth’s back, sending pinpoints of sensation through her body. “Do you know her?” he whispered.

  “That’s Raven, Yellow Drum’s senior wife.” Malice toward the Iroquois woman bubbled up in Elizabeth’s chest, animosity so intense that she felt sick. Yellow Drum’s unwanted rapes had not done as much damage to her spirit as Raven’s constant physical and mental abuse. Her cheeks grew hot as she remembered the dog dung Raven had thrown at her on the morning of Jamie’s naming day ceremony. For years Elizabeth had lived under the older woman’s vicious rule. It took every ounce of willpower not to draw the pistol from her belt and shoot Raven stone dead.

  Elizabeth was no longer afraid of the weapon Fire Talon had given her back at the Shawnee village. Hunt had spent many hours on the trail teaching her to load and aim the flintlock. She had practiced over and over with an empty gun, until finally, Hunt had let her fire it. She’d killed a sitting rabbit at thirty feet with one shot through the head.

  “That’s good enough to kill a man,” Fire Talon had said in approval. “Never load unless you mean to shoot, and never shoot unless you mean to kill. Can you do this, Scarlet Dawn?”

  “If I must,” she’d answered.

  If I must. Now, crouched here on this rise, her own words returned to haunt her. Raven was unarmed and unaware. Shooting her would be murder. Elizabeth knew she could never take a life—even Raven’s —so wantonly. But it gave her pleasure to know that she had the power to do it if she wanted to. And the fact that she chose not to fire helped to heal the old wound in her heart.

  I give you back your life, Raven. Elizabeth smiled and took a deep breath. Raven couldn’t hurt her anymore. She would never forget the injustice of what had been done to her, but neither would she hold on to the pain.

  Letting go of the rancor was a relief. “I forgive you, you black-hearted witch,” she murmured.

  “What?” Hunt asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Raven continued to walk toward the river. A group of three women appeared carrying baskets. One had a nursing child in her arms. Behind them came two braves.

  “The day is mild,” Elizabeth whispered. “They’ve come to wash clothing.”

  All yesterday the Shawnee had scouted around the village. Hunters had come and gone; and once, two French traders had approached the Seneca camp. They’d seen several boys, none of them Jamie—and Elizabeth still hadn’t summoned enough nerve to tell Hunt or Fire Talon that she had two children.

  Elizabeth kept her gaze on the trail, hoping to catch sight of Rachel or Jamie. She pressed her face to the damp leaves so that Hunt wouldn’t see the tears glistening in her eyes. She was reasonably sure that Yellow Drum’s son would be well cared for, but suppose Raven had done something terrible to Rachel? What if she was ill or even dead?

  Jagged dread knifed through her. If she’d been sporting with Hunt while her little daughter suffered ... If Rachel was dead and she didn’t even know it, the guilt would be too awful to bear.

  A dog barked in the valley. Hunt whispered to Badger, “Quiet.” The big animal crouched low to the ground, his brown eyes sad and liquid.

  Elizabeth held her breath and waited. Abruptly, two boys ran around the bend, the first too tall to be Jamie. The smaller child ran to keep up. Both children carried bows; quivers were slung over their backs.

  The youngest shouted, “Wait, wait for me.”

  “That’s Jamie,” Elizabeth whispered urgently. “That’s my son.”

  “Which one?” Hunt asked.

  “The little one with the otter-skin hood.” A lump formed in her throat. Jamie, oh, Jamie, she thought. Every fiber of her being urged her to call out his name—to run and gather him into her arms ... to shower him with kisses.

  “Don’t move,” Hunt warned. Inching his way down the slope, he motioned to the warrior, Fox, a few hundred feet away.

  She didn’t move. Fire Talon’s plan was to grab Jamie today only if they could snatch him without witnesses. If they could rescue him without killing anyone or being seen, war between the Shawnee and the Seneca could be averted. For now, it was important that every member of the Shawnee party see Jamie.

  A stout Seneca woman stopped and waited for the children. She was too far away for Elizabeth to make out what the squaw was telling them, but both boys took arrows from their quivers and began to walk slowly in the direction she pointed. The dog barked again as a rabbit tore from its hiding place.

  Instantly, the chase was on. Boys, dog, and rabbit ran pell-mell toward the ridge where Elizabeth and the Shawnee war pa
rty were hiding. Hunt wriggled up beside Elizabeth and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Not a sound,” he ordered.

  The first time Yellow Drum had used her body, he’d held his hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out. She shuddered as those bitter memories flooded her mind, and she fought a desire to bite Hunt’s hand. She clenched her teeth, willing to endure this indignity if it helped to get her son back. Still, she vowed to burn Hunt’s ears for not trusting her.

  The rabbit dashed closer. Jamie let fly an arrow that missed the zigzagging animal by six feet. The bigger boy shot, but his shaft also went wide. Elizabeth’s heart pounded. Much closer and the dog would catch the scent of the raiding party. If the boys came over the hill, Hunt could catch Jamie, but what would happen to Rachel?

  “Down,” Hunt hissed at Badger.

  Turn! Elizabeth screamed silently to the rabbit. Go the other way! She wanted Jamie, but not if it meant the men, the women, and the other children with him would be murdered to keep from spreading the alarm. And not if it meant leaving Rachel forever to Raven’s mercy.

  The gray-brown rabbit leaped high in the air and doubled back almost into the dog’s jaws. For seconds, dog and rabbit tangled and fur flew. Then the rabbit shot off toward the river with both boys and the dog in full cry behind it.

  Elizabeth exhaled with a gasp. Hunt removed his hand. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She snapped her head around. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I didn’t want you to call out to the boy.”

  She drew back, insulted.

  “I didn’t want you to get that woman killed or risk—”

  “Would you have put your hand over Fox’s mouth? Counts His Scalps?”

  He scoffed. “Of course not. They’re Shawnee. They wouldn’t give us away.”

  “And you think I would?” she whispered.

  “You’re a woman.”

  “That’s my son down there.” His accusation was so unfair. “I’d die before I’d give us away. I’d let bees sting me to death. I’d let your moth-eaten dog chew me to bits. I’d—”

  “Badger is not moth-eaten.”

  “And I’m not a weak woman.”

  “Don’t take on so.” His expression turned grim. “I was looking out for your good and the boy’s.”

  “If you ever do that again, you’ll regret it,” she warned him.

  His face hardened. “Don’t shoot bears you can’t skin.”

  “I don’t need to skin a bear, only you.”

  A crow call signaled them to retreat from their observation point. Elizabeth crept slowly backward down the hill, then sprinted to the cover of the woods. There, Fox and Fire Talon waited.

  “We saw him,” the war chief said in English to Elizabeth. “The little one.” She nodded, and he smiled at her. “You did well, Scarlet Dawn.” His dark eyes twinkled.”... For a warrior with Seneca training.” He motioned to Hunt, then spoke to him in the Shawnee language.

  “He thinks we’re in luck,” Hunt translated stiffly. “He believes that most of the Seneca men are away from the village. If we have to take Jamie by force, we may be able to do it without bloodshed.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I have friends among the Seneca. Most of them are good people. I don’t want to see any of them die.”

  “Neither do I,” Fire Talon agreed. “Simply taking Yellow Drum’s son would be a coup worthy to be sung about around the campfires of the Shawnee for years to come.”

  Elizabeth had reason to doubt the war chief’s sanity two nights later when she, Fire Talon, and Hunt crept inside the walls of the Seneca village under cover of darkness.

  Unseasonably warm weather continued to shadow the raiding party. This was the time of the crescent moon, and even that pale light was hidden by layers of thick clouds and all-encompassing mist. Counts His Scalps had prepared a black oil for the three to rub on their bodies, assuring them that it would make them invisible inside the enemy camp. Elizabeth doubted that the slippery ointment would make her vanish; it did make her smell of dog and something she couldn’t put a name to.

  Counts His Scalps, Fox, and the remainder of the Shawnee warriors would wait near the camp entrance to silence the guards. Elizabeth would lead Hunt and Talon to Raven’s longhouse, where the children should be sleeping. Hunt had argued that there was no need for Elizabeth to go into the village; Fire Talon had overruled his objections.

  “When the cub awakes, he will see his mother and not give alarm,” Talon had pronounced.

  “I’ve seen the boy,” Hunt countered. “I could—”

  “The choice isn’t yours. This man is war captain,” Talon reminded him. “Scarlet Dawn goes.”

  Elizabeth shivered. There were a thousand things that could go wrong. Fire Talon’s scouts had assured her that most of the warriors were gone, but even one could throw a spear or shoot a bullet that could kill one of her children. She was terrified, more so because the secret she’d kept so long would soon be out. She knew she should tell Hunt and the Shawnee, but she was still afraid they’d not endanger themselves further for a girl child.

  The dull, resounding boom of a water drum echoed through the village. Sounds of chanting and hand-clapping drifted between the longhouses. The Seneca shaman was performing a healing ceremony tonight. The high beat of a hand drum and the wail of a bird-bone whistle had told her so. Counts His Scalps had concurred. Other than the guards on the walls, the majority—if not all—of the adults in the camp would be present to help with the cure. It might be possible to slip into the longhouse and take her children without any Seneca being wiser until morning.

  Hunt pressed close to the inner wall. Elizabeth did the same. Their faces and clothing had been streaked with charcoal so that they would blend into the night. They carried no weapons other than knives. Elizabeth gazed up toward the catwalk that ran along the top of the wall. Her heart rose in her throat as a shadow detached from a darker shadow. Instantly, she heard the cluck of a hen turkey.

  Hunt’s hand closed over her wrist. “That’s Fox,” he whispered. “He and Flint Knife have taken the Senecas’ places.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Shh,” Talon warned. He touched her shoulder lightly, urging her on.

  The familiar camp smells settled around her as she led the way toward Raven’s longhouse. Tobacco, corn shocks, drying fish, and damp furs mingled with the scents of tame turkeys shuffling in their cages. Then Elizabeth heard a faint whine, and a dog poked his cold nose into her hand and licked her fingers.

  She nearly cried out in surprise. She couldn’t see the animal in the darkness, but this dog couldn’t be Badger; he’d been left outside the walls. Why wasn’t this dog barking or growling at Hunt and Talon? When the animal continued to lick her hand and began to rub against her leg, she decided that the mystery must have something to do with Counts’s invisible oil.

  An eerie strain of music curled through the streets between the shadowy longhouses ... the shaman’s medicine chant. Elizabeth wondered if he was wearing a false face, one of the wooden masks that featured so prominently in Seneca religious ceremony.

  Going the long way around to Raven’s hearth meant walking past more houses. Surely someone would discover them, Elizabeth thought. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she was certain it could wake the dead. But no dog barked, and no Seneca voice challenged them.

  Finally, she crossed a familiar hump of earth and touched the bark covering of Raven’s home. Cautiously, she led Hunt and Talon around the end of the structure and slowly pushed aside the heavy door covering. Sweat beading on her forehead, too frightened to breathe, she peeked inside. Only the family dog raised his head to look at her, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep. She stepped over the doorsill. Hunt and Talon followed close on her heels.

  The fire on the first hearth had burned low. Elizabeth circled the pit and put her hand on the deerskin that led to Raven’s hearth place. What if her children weren’t
there? What if Raven or Many Blushes was?

  A small hiss of air escaped between her teeth as she saw Jamie’s sturdy form sprawled on the sleeping platform. She strained to see if Rachel was there, but it was too dark. Whispering a silent prayer, Elizabeth moved across the floor to her son’s side. She bent close to his face and tried to keep from weeping as she heard his regular intake of breath and smelled his warm, familiar scent.

  Hunt motioned to her to pick him up, but she turned away, looking intently for Rachel. Someone uttered a sleepy sound and a blanket stirred along the back wall. That was Many Blushes’s sleeping spot. Rachel wouldn’t be there.

  Heedless of the danger, Elizabeth went to where her daughter had always slept and jerked back the covers. The bed was empty. Empty! She felt as though a chasm had gaped open under her feet, and she fought to keep back a groan of despair.

  Hunt’s touch jerked her back from the brink. She took a gulp of air and shook off his hand. She forced her muscles to move as she edged toward Many Blushes’s bed.

  “No,” Hunt whispered.

  Elizabeth took hold of the wool blanket. As she lifted it, a tiny starfish hand dangled over the side of the sleeping platform. Rachel, she cried silently. Her daughter whimpered and opened her mouth, seeking her thumb. Elizabeth seized the chubby hand and tucked the finger between her rosy lips. Rachel sighed and murmured contentedly.

  “What are you doing?” Hunt hissed. “Take the boy and—”

  Elizabeth lifted the blanket higher. An adult arm lay across the child’s middle. As she tried to pull Rachel away, Many Blushes raised her head and opened her eyes.

  Elizabeth’s desperate gaze met hers, and instant recognition registered in the Seneca woman’s dark eyes. “Please,” Elizabeth begged. Many Blushes closed her eyes and turned her face to the wall.

  Picking Rachel up, Elizabeth thrust her into Hunt’s arms. “She goes too,” she said.

  Hunt went rigid. “What?”

  “You heard me,” she replied. “She goes too.”

  “What are you—”