Passion's Series

by Adair, Mary

  She took a deep, steadying breath as she looked at the pregnant squaw. Surely it was not possible her warrior had joined himself with a squaw whose people believed it necessary to flatten the heads of their children.

  Chapter Fifteen

  James emerged from the cold river. Water flew in all directions as he slung his arms and then squeezed as much water as he could from his hair. He was chilled to the bone and his belly hurt, but at last the purification was completed.

  The other warriors were as anxious as he to pull on their meager clothing. Each would hurry to his lodge to sit before a warm fire and tell his family all about the great adventure. But not him, he was off to see Dancing Cloud and to get some answers.

  The presence of Akachee and Gentle Rain in Dancing Cloud's village could only mean some disaster had befallen their people. He assumed they went to the trading post and learned from George he was here. But how did they get here? Two women from an enemy tribe would not be allowed to simply stroll into Cherokee territory, much less into the village.

  James stopped outside Dancing Cloud's lodge and called out for permission to enter. The answering permission was quick in coming and James stepped inside.

  At the far end of the lodge, a young officer quickly stood to attention, executed a perfect right pivot and had his hand raised halfway to a perfectly correct salute when his brain absorbed what his eyes were telling him.

  Standing large and imposing before him was Colonel Fitzgerald, as he'd never seen him before.

  James did not stop but came directly to the small circle and sat down to recline against a cane backrest. He pulled one knee up and shifted his large frame to the most comfortable position before looking up at the distraught young man.

  With a wide grin, James snapped a quick salute and said, "At ease, Beauregard—Smythe isn't it?"

  "Uh...Yes, sir. Lieutenant Smythe, sir." The young man joined the others on the hard-packed floor. Beauregard nervously wiped the beading moisture from his upper lip and remembered the last time he run into Colonel Fitzgerald.

  He underestimated the colonel at their last meeting, him being dressed in lace and ruffles...that is until he'd felt the tip of Colonel Fitzgerald's rapier pressing against the quickening pulse of his neck.

  His life had hung by a thread for the longest few seconds he'd ever experienced. He could have lived or died, all on the whim of a fop called Robin who turned out to be the King's most celebrated agent.

  The colonel made a laughing stock of him that day and then let him walk away uninjured while his own disguise remained uncompromised. Beauregard shuddered now, remembering how angry the King had been; but the colonel took care of that too.

  No doubt the teasing grin on his commanding officer's face meant he also remembered their last encounter.

  If Beauregard had seen the man as he saw him now, he'd never have attempted to draw the object of his lavish attention away from him. How was he to know the impeccably dressed dandy with the uncommonly pretty courtesan hanging on his arm was actually one of the King's own engaged in the monarch's business?

  The three men sat in silence while Dancing Cloud's wife served the newcomer. James' arrival during a meal required he honor his friend by accepting his hospitality, which of course, James was more than grateful for after three days of fasting and purging.

  As James ate, Dancing Cloud watched Beauregard Smythe with open interest.

  Once the remainder of the meal was cleared and the pipe passed around the small circle, Dancing Cloud addressed James, "This white man arrived two days after the war party departed. He tells us you are his chief. He knows your warrior name, the name the Great White Father called you in my presence. So I believed him." Dancing Cloud turned back to James and said as an after thought, "He brought your women with him."

  Dancing Cloud drew deeply from the pipe and blew the smoke in three short puffs toward the ceiling before handing it to James.

  "I thank you, Lieutenant," James said as he passed the pipe to Smythe. He waited patiently for the lieutenant to draw the three ceremonial puffs.

  "Why are you here, Lieutenant?" he asked, all trace of easy humor now gone from his face.

  Smythe nervously cleared his throat as he shifted his gaze to the chief.

  "I am warning you, Lieutenant, do not test my patience. Anything you have to say to me can be said in the chief s hearing. The only thing that kept you and my women alive long enough to see my return was Cloud's knowledge of my nickname. I am of a mind to scalp you myself."

  The lieutenant quickly passed the pipe. "The Prime Minister has not received a dispatch from you in some time. My orders were to find you and relay to you his concern. He wants a full report."

  James leaned forward and slapped him on the shoulder, "And so you did, and so he shall. Now relax, Beauregard. Or is it Beau? You are among friends." James leaned against the backrest, but one look into his eyes belied his easy manner. "Tell me why you risked the lives of two women to bring them into this camp."

  "I was at the trading post, looking for you when they arrived," Smythe began. "They believe that Gentle Rain's husband was killed by the French. The chief’s son, Gentle Rain's brother, killed the Frenchman that Gentle Rain feels is responsible for her husband's death. Unfortunately he also died due to the wounds he obtained in the battle."

  James' easy posture did not change during the lieutenant's speech, nor did the deadly glint in his eyes. "This does not explain why you brought them here, Lieutenant."

  The lieutenant took a deep breath and glanced at the chief who appeared to be extremely interested in everything he said.

  "I knew you spent some time with the Choctaw in an effort to create an alliance with that tribe. The fact the two women were looking for you indicated to me that there had been an alliance made, of sorts.

  "Gentle Rain said some pretty strange things, Colonel," Smythe was obviously warming to the subject. "She said you are her husband's brother and she had to find you, and then stay with you until her son is born. Then she must present the child to her father before she can return home.

  "It sounded, Colonel, like she would not be allowed to return to her own people if she gives birth to a girl. If this happens, if she has a girl, I mean. Is she going to be bound to you in some way? Will this not create some…well…difficulties with your mission?"

  Smythe could not resist letting his gaze slide to Colonel Fitzgeralds eyes. James read with ease that Smythe was less concerned about the mission than pleased at the thought that the Colonel might find himself in a tight spot.

  James had spent a considerable amount of time going over Smythe's record after their last encounter. Smythe is a good man, James conceded to himself, just a little too much puppy still in him. A while longer out here away from the parlors and gaming tables of London and he would someday make a decent soldier.

  James grinned, "You are right to a point, Lieutenant. If her first child is a girl she will not be allowed to return to her people. She will remain with me until she gives birth to a boy. Then she will take her child, or children, whichever the case may be, and return to her village in honor. Her people would accept my son as her husband's son. He would be raised as the grandson of the Great Red Shoes."

  Shock was evident on the lieutenant's face, "You mean to tell me, if this child is a girl you will be expected to produce a son with her and just simply send him off to be raised by some warring red chief to kill and someday die like an Indian?"

  "What is the matter, Lieutenant? Are your Christian morals all in an uproar?" James leaned forward. "Tell me, Beau, have you never read Deuteronomy Chapter twenty five, verse five and six?" James' tone was pleasant enough, but it left no doubt that he intended to make no more explanation.

  James watched the shifting play of confusion and doubt on the young man's face. He was sure the lieutenant would be fumbling through his Bible at the first opportunity.

  "You will learn many of the Indian customs you think of as uncivilized are surprisi
ngly similar to the stories in that little black book you carry around in your saddle bag. They, however, may not be the stories your dear, sweet grandmother used to tell you while she bounced you on her knee."

  James relaxed against the cane backrest. "My mission requires I be fully accepted by these people. This means I must accept them and their ways." A grin spread across his face and this time it reached his eyes. "Trust me, Lieutenant. I know what I'm doing."

  "Of course, Sir," Smythe replied. He was sure the Colonel was laughing at him…again.

  James grew noticeably impatient as he rubbed his open palm back and forth across the top of his bent knee.

  "Lieutenant, about the Prime Minister. You will have a dispatch prepared for you by mid-day tomorrow. I will expect to hear back from you before the first snow falls. The weak link in our line of communication must be found and eliminated before then. I trust you will be more diligent than my last contact."

  James rose easily to his feet and respectfully bid his leave from Chief Dancing Cloud. He moved to the doorway. Turning abruptly, his eyes bore into the Lieutenant's, "Find it, and take care of it, Lieutenant, or I will ...my way."

  Lieutenant Smythe had a disturbing mental picture of Colonel Fitzgerald covered in war paint and blood, whooping like an Indian at the top of his lungs. Realizing he'd lost his voice he nodded curtly.

  Once outside James drew in a deep breath of clean air. God! How he loved it here! He took off in an easy trot toward the far end of the village. He must find out what was happening within the camp of Red Shoes. If his dispatches have been intercepted it would not be difficult to trace them back to him.

  As James came around the sharp bend leading to his lodges, he stopped short. The place absolutely gleamed as the bright rays of mid-morning sun reflected from their whitewashed surface.

  Akachee stepped from the doorway and looked up to see him striding toward her. Unable to wait, she ran the best her aging legs could carry her to his outstretched arms.

  James wrapped his arms around Akachee's ample girth and raised her easily from the ground and, oblivious to her squeaks and squawks, he twirled her around and around.

  Gentle Rain dashed from the lodge, probably expecting to see the old woman being beaten by an angry Cherokee, to see James setting her gently to her feet and laughing joyfully at her attempts to hold her balance.

  New Moon stood motionless in a nearby cornfield and watched. She saw James gently support the aging woman he called mother, and she saw the warm glow that shone in Gentle Rain's eyes as she watched the same scene. New Moon squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to control the emotion that threatened to engulf her.

  The huge doe eyes that called out to her warrior were not the eyes of the white woman in her vision, New Moon reminded herself. Yet, she could see he cared deeply for this girl who bloomed too early into womanhood. Though he did not love this flat head the way he would someday love the white woman, she knew he was bound by a warm affection and by the child growing inside her.

  Tears flowed unchecked down New Moon's tawny cheeks. Unable to stand it another moment, she turned and fled.

  James entered his lodge and looked around, a smile of pure pleasure on his face. "Akachee, Gentle Rain, you have done so much."

  Gentle Rain blushed timidly as she peeked up at James through lowered lashes. "I have prepared food. I expected you sooner, but I have kept it warm for you."

  James lowered himself to sit cross-legged on a buffalo hide and waited for her to serve him. His hunger had been satisfied at the Chief s lodge, but he did not have the heart to disappoint Gentle Rain. Besides, after so many days of deprivation, he could use a bit more in his belly.

  After eating, he set about the unpleasant task of questioning the women about their presence in Dancing Cloud's village.

  "Akachee, please come and sit beside me," he called out. "Gentle Rain, you too, come here," he patted the skin.

  "I want to know what happened to my brother, Gentle Rain," he coaxed. "Please tell me." His heart gave a lurch as he spied a silent tear escape from beneath her lowered lashes.

  With a ragged sigh she began, "Your brother offered a bride price. My father was very pleased and accepted the price."

  "Were you not pleased to be joined to Soaring Eagle?" James asked gently.

  Gentle Rain shrugged, "I was pleased. My husband was a mighty warrior." She sniffed loudly and rubbed her wrist under her nose, the action bringing home to James just how young she truly was.

  "Your brother drank much of the French man's fire water. He became sick with it," she said softly. Her voice broke as she added, "It made him...do things."

  James gritted his teeth as his fingers dug into his knees, "Go on."

  Gentle Rain glanced up. Her gaze went no further up than the tensed, bulging muscles of his chest and she quickly lowered her eyes again, "One day when he was very sick with need for the fire water he left our village with many skins with which to trade to the French. When he did not return my father sent out a search." Her voice cracked as a shudder ran through her body and she wrapped her arms about herself.

  "I can remember the day the warriors brought back my husband. His spirit was leaving him." Her silent sobs rocked her body as James pulled her tightly against his side.

  He waited, unsure what he should do to ease her pain. Finally she took a shuddering breath and continued from her new position within his arms.

  "My husband was a mighty warrior and a good husband. He knew the Great One was calling his spirit. He did not want to leave me alone." Gentle Rain's hand rose slowly toward her hair, "As I held him in my arms he spoke the soft words to me. When he breathed his last I looked into his eyes as I caught his breath into my own lungs." Her hand moved from her hair to her extended belly. "I wanted his strength to go to his son." She pushed away then and looked up at James. "His last words were, Go to my blood-brother.'"

  She reached a trembling finger toward his face and wiped away a tear. James pulled her head back to his chest. After that a French man came to our village. He wanted to trade firewater to our warriors for skins. He also wanted my father to give me to him.

  He thought that because I no longer had a husband my father would agree. But my father would not let him take me. The Frenchman grabbed my arm. He was going to take me without my father's permission.

  My brother fought for me and for the blood cry. He killed the French man, but he died too." Gentle Rain gritted her teeth. "My father will avenge his blood, and the blood of my husband, on all French men."

  The moments that followed were heavy with silence until finally she spoke again, "No warrior in my village will take me because my husband's son has not been born. I must wear my hair down and mourn until the time is up."

  James' heart ached for the girl whose entry into womanhood had been so harsh, but then the Indian woman's life had always been so. "Why not stay with your father until the child is born? It may very well be a son and your mourning time would be over. Coming to me was very dangerous and may not have been necessary."

  She stole a shy glance at James and lowered her eyes again, "My father has left our village to meet with the other chiefs to discuss the Frenchman at Fort Thomble. My father was afraid for me, so he took me to the trading post to wait for your return. He said you would protect me, like you did before. He said you would raise up a son for your brother."

  Suddenly the large doe eyes rose to meet his fully and he could see the fear and pain they held. He knew he could not send her back to her village in shame. When he became blood brother with Soaring Eagle he became, to all intended purposes, a tribal kinsman and therefore honor-bound to uphold their customs.

  "You will stay with me, Gentle Rain." With a roguish grin that had been the downfall of many a damsel, he slipped into his native brogue as he continued, speaking barely above a whisper. "If tha wee one ye carry be a sweet lass, my little darlin', then together we shall make a fine laddie who will grow up to be a mighty warrior like his father and h
is grandfather."

  Gentle Rain did not understand the strange words, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice or the promise in his eyes. As the fear and uncertainty she shouldered for so long lifted from her, she crumpled forward and wailed her relief with great catching sobs.

  "Now, now, Mon petite," he cooed in the French tongue she understood. Reaching forward he pulled her into the safety of his strong arms and gently rocked her. As he wiped away her tears with one callused thumb, he sang softly to her.

  Strange how the mind works at a time like this, he mused as the lyrics of an old Irish lullaby came easily to his lips. How melancholy one could become with memories of home and days of childhood long past.

  He tucked her head beneath his chin. If it was destined for his son to grow to manhood without ever knowing his father and naught of his father's homeland, then he wanted him to grow up with the memories of the same sweet melodies he'd heard as a boy. The same ones he would sing to him if he were there to watch him grow.

  The baby kicked so hard James felt it under his arm. He smiled and laid his hand on her rounded belly, "Lad or Lassie we may not know, darlin', but 'tis a strong little bairn to be sure."

  Gentle Rain smiled and nuzzled her head beneath his chin as he leaned against the cane backrest. Soon his eyelids closed and he drifted into a troubled sleep, Gentle Rain still cradled in his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  James gave himself to his dreams. As he floated lightly above the earth he let his eyes casually scan the changing scenery below. The search became frantic, yet he did not know for what he searched.

  His feet planted themselves firmly on the red bank of a wide, crooked river. Across the river, on the far bank, he saw a panther emerge gracefully from the foliage. James knew he was looking at his own totem. The cat's blue eyes met his and they became one soul. As the panther looked back over his own shoulder James saw through the eyes of his totem.