“Time enough for chasing her,” Fox said. “You belong in your bed.”
Hunt nodded. Even the short distance he’d walked had drained his strength. With Fox’s help, he entered the wigwam and made his way to his sleeping platform. Dizzy and trembling with exhaustion, he sat down. “What are you doing?” he demanded as his sister began to untie the laces of his moccasins.
“Hush. Lie down, I can do this.” She tugged off the first moccasin. “What’s this sticky stuff on your feet?”
“Stop fussing over me,” Hunt grumbled. “Rachel stuffed her unwanted dinner in my moccasins.”
“Wonderful,” Sweet Water said. She pulled a blanket up to his waist and examined the bandage on his arm. “Lie still, you’ve started this bleeding again.” “It’s all right.”
“You aren’t recovered yet,” she said, laying a hand on his forehead. “I think you may have a fever.”
“I don’t have a fever. It’s hot in here,” he protested.
Fox chuckled. “She is a bossy woman.”
“She’s always been bossy,” Hunt agreed.
“This is my brother, once known as Colin Gordon,” Sweet Water explained to the Shawnee brave.
Fox exhaled softly. “The boy we—”
“Captured at Simon Brandt’s cabin,” Sweet Water finished. “Fox was with the raiding party that day,” she said to Hunt. She glanced back at the brave. “I can’t wait to tell Talon.”
“Hiiye,” Fox murmured. “But it will not be so much a surprise as you think. Talon told me that this man might be your long lost brother.”
“He told you?” Sweet Water cried. “And he said nothing to me?”
Fox chuckled. “You know Talon. He is a cautious man. If Hunter died in Seneca hunting ground, he would be dead—would he not? If he lived, there would be time to ask questions once we returned.”
“And you kept it from me—both of you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Out of this house, Fox. Go and tell my husband that he was right. And also tell him that he’d best find his supper at your wigwam tonight, for there will be none for him in his own house.”
After Fox left, Sweet Water turned back to Hunt. “Do you want that soup now?”
“A little.” In truth, Hunt was weary enough to sleep without eating. His legs had barely held him, and the walk to the woods had brought sweat beading on his forehead in spite of the wind and low temperature.
“Prop your head up a little,” she ordered, lifting a spoonful of the venison soup to his lips.
“I can feed myself.”
“Shh,” she soothed. “Open your mouth.” When he did, she popped the spoon between his lips.
“Now, little brother, where have you been? And what does this woman really mean to you?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Stick a spoon in my mouth and then expect me to answer difficult questions. All women are alike.”
She wiped away a dribble of broth. “You were always trouble, Colin, always.”
“Hunt.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, but this will take some getting used to.”
“I agree. I’ve always thought of you as Becca.”
“Maybe she and Colin belong together in the past.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, then changed the subject. “You picked a good man for a second husband.”
She smiled. “He picked me.”
“Talon’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever known,” Hunt said between mouthfuls.
“And the kindest. Oh, you’re an uncle,” she cried. “You have a nephew, eleven. My Falcon is already a good hunter. And Star Girl is—”
“Rachel’s friend,” he supplied. “I’ve heard that much.”
“I can’t believe Talon didn’t tell me that he suspected who you were,” she said. “I was in the same village with you and never noticed you. I was angry that you were taking my husband to war. I avoided you.” She looked down at him. “I’ll kill Talon for not saying anything.”
“Does it matter?” he asked her.
“No, not now.” She cupped his hand between hers. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in and out of this house? I helped to tend your wounds, but I never guessed who you were.”
“What of Simon Brandt?”
Her mood became pensive. “Long dead.”
Hunt was shocked at the relief he felt. His sister’s first husband had given him little but rough blows and hard words.
“An evil man and best forgotten,” she whispered.
Hunt’s eyelids felt heavy. The heat of the soup pooled in his belly, and Becca’s voice lulled him into a peace he’d not known for a long time.
“What is Elizabeth Fleming to you?” his sister asked.
He didn’t answer.
“She says her father’s a wealthy man.”
He was so tired that it was easier to pretend sleep.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this can last,” Becca said. “She needed you to get her children. Now that she has them, she’ll return to who she is.”
Elizabeth’s image formed in the recesses of his mind. He reached for her and she eluded him in the mist.
“She’s different than we are,” Becca said. “A woman of her class could never accept living among the people as I have. She would not be happy married to a woodsman. She’s been accustomed to satin dresses and velvet slippers in her father’s house. She told me that he will arrange a suitable marriage for her ... with a rich plantation owner, no doubt.”
“She’s lived among the Seneca.”
“As a captive—a slave. Given the choice, she will gladly return to her position as an English gentlewoman. I am happy as Talon’s wife, but I lived on the frontier for many years before I knew him. Elizabeth was born to quality. She isn’t like me, little brother. You and I have always known adversity. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of her when she’s just been rescued from slavery and hasn’t had the time to think about what she wants of life.”
“I think I ...” The word love formed but he couldn’t say it. His feelings were too raw to share with the sister he hadn’t seen in so many years. And what if Becca was right? What if Elizabeth would be better off among her own kind?
“You care for her,” Becca said softly.
“Yes,” he admitted. His sister had spoken of fears that had troubled him ever since he’d begun to realize how much Elizabeth meant to him. He wanted Elizabeth, but not if it ruined her life and caused her unhappiness.
Becca sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You must let her go, little brother. You’ll only hurt yourself—and her—by trying to change what must be.”
“Elizabeth.” His lips formed her name, but he was already drifting into a deep sleep.
“There’s no place for you in her rich Charles Town future,” Sweet Water said, “and no place for two half-Indian children.”
To Elizabeth’s delight, Hunt’s recovery was swift and uneventful. In a week, he was regularly walking to the men’s lodge to join Fire Talon, Counts His Scalps, and the other men in smoking, gossiping, and discussing politics. In two weeks, he was cleaning his rifle and talking about joining a hunting party.
Rachel had accepted him as a natural part of the household. Jamie was still reserved, but Elizabeth noticed that the boy was never far from Hunt, and he listened intently to Hunt’s every word.
For herself, she could not help but wish the winter would hold them here in the Shawnee town forever. She and Hunt had not resumed their lovemaking, and she wanted to—terribly. But even more, she wanted to go on waking up every morning and seeing his sleepy face. She wanted to cook for him and stitch his moccasins ... to see her small daughter tucked into the crook of Hunt’s arm as he told her a story. She wanted to grow old with him and watch the sunsets together when his black hair had turned to silver.
Elizabeth and Hunt spoke only once of spring. Once was enough. He told her that when the weather broke and it was safe to travel with the children, he’d take her back to Charles Town.
“I don’t want to go,” she answered, deliberately keeping her tone even.
“I promised your father. I took his money, Elizabeth. It’s only fair I bring his daughter home.”
“He won’t want us,” she argued. “He won’t want Jamie and Rachel, and he won’t want me once he sees that I’m not the child he lost.”
Hunt sighed heavily and looked into her eyes. “It’s a thing to think of, what you will say about the children. My sister and her husband have asked to care for them.”
Anger drove all thought of calm from her mind. Did he think she’d come this far to surrender now? “I won’t give up Jamie and Rachel!”
“I told my sister you’d say that, but you’d best think about it. They’d be happier with the Shawnee.”
“No! That’s preposterous,” she flung back. “I won’t listen to such—”
“Listen to me,” he insisted. “Just listen, and think about what I’m saying. Talon is convinced war is coming between England and the colonies. Charles Town’s on the coast. Whatever happens, they’ll be in the thick of it.”
“Oh, it’s all right to send me back into a war, just not—”
“You aren’t listening,” he said, taking her arms and holding her so that she faced him squarely. “No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“Liar.” It was so unfair. When he touched her, it was almost impossible to keep from trembling—to keep her heart from racing. “You’re forcing me to go back to my father,” she reminded him.
“That’s different.” His face twisted, and she read the pain in his eyes. “I gave my word, Elizabeth. If a man’s word is worthless, what does it say about him?”
“You and your damn honor!” What about my honor? she cried silently. “I wouldn’t leave my children with the Seneca. Not with their own father. Why should I leave them here with strangers?” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Couldn’t he see? Didn’t he know what she really wanted?
“Sweet Water loves them. And Talon would be a good father. He’d teach Jamie what he must know to survive. Jamie’s half Seneca; he’ll never make a proper white man. I didn’t, and I was born white. Here, with the Shawnee, they’d be someone. Back on the coast ... you know what people will call them. Half-breed. Red-skinned savages.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. “I’ll protect them,” she argued. “No one will call them redskins twice, I can promise you that.”
“You’ll not be able to stop the filthy names. Becca loved me, but her own husband called me a bastard.” He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Just think on it,” he suggested. “Talon’s planning on moving his tribe west and north to the big lakes. He has friends among the Menominee. That’s too far west for the war. Jamie and Rachel can grow up there in peace.”
“I won’t give them up,” she insisted. Her heart was beating so hard that he must feel it. How could he hold her like this and not know how she loved him? “Not for your sister,” she managed, “not for anyone.”
“What about for their own good?” he asked huskily.
“They belong with me, and they’ll stay with me.”
“Becca ... Sweet Water said you’d say that. She also said that if you ever change your mind, her offer stands.”
“That’s good of her. I’m grateful that she cares enough to ask for them,” she told him.
She was grateful, at least she thought she was. But the friendship between her and Sweet Water wasn’t the same as it had been before they’d known that Hunt was Sweet Water’s brother. The Indian woman’s first loyalty lay with Hunt, not Elizabeth, and what woman would want a soiled wife for her brother? The children still played together and slept in each other’s wigwams, but some of the warmth had gone out of her relationship with Sweet Water.
Elizabeth still wanted Hunt, and she sensed that his sister opposed their being together. Hunt hadn’t said anything more about returning to his mountains on the far side of the great prairie, but he didn’t have to. She knew he intended to go, and she realized that there was no place in his future for an ugly woman with two small children.
Which left her with nothing but the few months until springtime....
She meant to make the most of that time, and no false pride would keep her from taking whatever scraps of love she could get from Hunt. She knew he blamed her for not telling him that she had two children, not one. She also knew that he still desired her body—the heat of his gaze told her so. Her only problem was to decide how to bridge the chasm between them.
She wanted to share his bed and his kisses. She wanted to sleep in the safety of his powerful arms and feel again the passion only he could ignite. And if she could pretend for a little while that she belonged to him, it would give her something to dream on for the rest of her life.
Chapter 23
Ten days later, Elizabeth stood on a snow-covered hillside at the edge of the Shawnee village filling her gourd container with spring water. The late afternoon sun was bright on her face, and trees sheltered her from the wind. Another five inches of snow had fallen last night on top of the six already on the ground, but she was dressed warmly against the cold in soft wool and furs.
She enjoyed the snowfall as much as Rachel and Jamie did. She’d never seen snow and she’d seen little ice until she’d been captured by the Seneca, but she found the brisk temperatures much easier to endure than the humid heat of Charles Town.
Behind her, she heard shrieks of childish laughter, and she turned to see a half dozen little boys chasing an older youth and pelting him with snowballs. Nearby, three girls were taking turns leaping into a snowbank and making imprints of their bodies in the snow. Another child slid across a frozen section of creek under the watchful eyes of her doting grandmother.
“Mama! Mama! Look at me!” Rachel waved and shouted excitedly to her in Shawnee. “See me! See me!”
“I see you,” Elizabeth called back. Rachel and her friend Star Girl—both snugly wrapped in a bearskin—were riding on a sled pulled by Fire Talon’s son, Falcon.
He stopped and waved at her as well.
“Go! Go!” cried a red-cheeked Rachel.
Falcon settled the leather dog harness across his chest and began to trudge ahead. Both girls cheered as the sled bumped over a rough section of frozen ice.
“Faster! Faster!” Star Girl yelled.
Obediently, Falcon began to jog, turning left toward the far side of the camp where Jamie was trying out his new bow with an audience of admiring friends.
While he was still confined to the wigwam, Hunt had fashioned Jamie a Cheyenne bow of horn and a dozen boy-sized arrows. Today, Hunt had spent the last hour teaching Jamie how to improve his aim.
Elizabeth had sewn a Shawnee-style hunting shirt for her son; wearing it, he was nearly indistinguishable from the other boys in the village. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Jamie would be on his best behavior today. Hunt was surprisingly attentive to him, no matter how badly Jamie acted toward him.
She sighed. For a man who said he had little use for children, he spent a great deal of time with hers, much more than their father had ever done.
Yellow Drum adored Jamie and never ceased boasting about him to other men, but the Seneca had only tolerated bold, little Rachel. Her impish ways and quick tongue had never captivated him the way they did Hunt. Since Raven had shown open jealousy when Yellow Drum played with the children, he rarely did so. Occasionally, he’d taken Jamie hunting with him, but Rachel had always been left at home with the women.
Hunt, on the other hand, had shown both Jamie and Rachel how to fish through the ice and how to scale and clean the fish they caught. He taught them to imitate various birdcalls and to identify animal tracks in the snow. He always had time to listen to their endless chatter, and he’d been understanding when Rachel spilled his horn of precious black powder in the sand. He’d also prevented Elizabeth from scolding her when she tried to cut a doll dress from his buckskin drum cover and ruine
d it.
He never complained when Rachel woke them all in the night complaining that she was thirsty or needed another trip outside to relieve herself; and he hadn’t lost his temper when Rachel knocked his knife sheath into the fire and scorched it.
Hunt took the trouble to teach them all new words in Shawnee every day, following the lessons with wonderful songs and silly jokes. Already, Jamie was translating some Algonquian phrases for her, and Rachel was chattering away as though she’d always lived with the Shawnee.
Evenings around the campfire in their wigwam seemed too short for Elizabeth. It was such a luxury to be mistress of her own lodge after living so long under another woman’s thumb. Hunt and the Shawnee treated her as an equal, a woman of worth, and she savored the long, peaceful nights of talk and laughter. Often Fire Talon and Fox would bring their wives to the wigwam for a visit. Sweet Water remained kind, despite the concern in her eyes; and Fox’s wife, Shell Bead Girl, was a delight, always cheerful and patient with Elizabeth’s poor Shawnee.
After eating—if there were no guests or they had not been invited to another wigwam—she, Hunt, Jamie, and Rachel would roast nuts and pop corn while Hunt spun tales of the western plains and mountains. Jamie’s eyes widened at the stories of buffalo and prairie fires and huge bears with silver ruffs that walked upright like men.
Sometimes, Hunt would draw animal tracks on birchbark with pieces of charcoal, and the children would try to name the creature they belonged to. Rachel’s favorite game was listening to Hunt imitate birdcalls. The player who correctly named the bird won an acorn, and the child with the most acorns could ask for any story or game he or she wanted before bedtime.
The only thing lacking, Elizabeth thought wistfully, was that Hunt had made no move to draw her into his blankets once the children were sleeping. Usually, he would leave the wigwam and not return until she had retired for the night. He was as good-natured with her as he was with the children, but she longed for more than Hunt’s friendship. She wanted the passion he’d shown before.
I’m not ready for it to end, she thought as she watched the spring water spill over the top of the gourd pitcher. I want him to take me in his arms and hold me so close that I can feel his warm breath on my face and hear the thud of his heart.
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