Candace McCarthy

by Fireheart

  “But what of Moon Dove? What are her wishes in the marriage?”

  Stormy Wind frowned. “I do not know, but I think there is someone more important to Moon Dove than Fireheart.”

  “Hmmm.” Wild Squirrel was thoughtful.

  “I will see what I can learn from her mother and the women of our village,” said Stormy Wind.

  “Yes,” replied Wild Squirrel, pleased with his wife’s suggestion. “See what you can find out.” He gazed wistfully off in the direction that Joanna had taken. “She is white, but she is more Lenape.”

  “She was away from us a long time. She clings to her English ways as if she will be punished should she leave them.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I saw the tunic that Mary Wife made her. I thought she would wear it instead of the white woman’s gown.”

  “She will wear it,” his wife promised him. “She will wear it because she is Lenape and will know this soon.” She set a corn cob aside to reach for another fresh ear. “Have you thought why she has not said when she will leave us?”

  Wild Squirrel looked at her expectantly.

  Stormy Wind’s smile was soft. “Because she does not want to go.”

  “I hope you are right, wife,” he said.

  She gave him a sly look. “I am always right, my husband.”

  “Moon Dove,” Fireheart said, “you have heard our grandmothers talking. They want us to marry. What do you think of this?”

  The Indian maiden glanced up to regard him shyly. She had lovely dark eyes with long lashes. Her skin was smooth, and she had all of her teeth. His gaze fell to her mouth, which was perfectly formed. But he felt no heat when he looked at her . . . none of. the heat he’d experienced when he was with Autumn Wind.

  “It is an honor to marry our future chief,” she replied quietly.

  He narrowed his gaze, searching her expression for some hidden meaning. “So you would marry me?”

  “If it is your wish,” she said without smiling. She kept her eyes cast downward, a strange thing for one who had known him since they were children. In all other matters, she could face him steadily. Why was the topic of their marriage so different?

  Was it the prospective intimacy between them that seemed difficult for her?

  “Is there someone else in your heart?”

  She didn’t reply, and Fireheart wondered if her affections lay elsewhere.

  “Do not answer that,” he said. For he had no right to ask it, not when his own heart was otherwise engaged.

  She seemed surprised by his statement. “You do not think I would make you a good wife?” she asked, looking troubled.

  He smiled and touched her arm. “I think you would make a good wife.” It was his role as her husband that he doubted.

  She grinned then, like the sunshine bursting forth from behind a cloud. “I will give you many sons.”

  Fireheart nodded, and hid the anguish he felt that his children would not come from the woman he loved.

  Autumn Wind. It had always been Joanna.

  Why did she have to come back now when he had forgotten what it was to be hurt by her? Why couldn’t he make himself forget how good she felt in his arms?

  Such discussion between a man and woman contemplating marriage were unusual for his people, but Fireheart couldn’t begin the courtship ritual until he was sure that Moon Dove wanted the match as well. It might be a decision for the village matrons, but it was his life, and he had too many responsibilities to worry about an unhappy wife.

  But Moon Dove seemed content to marry him. He would marry her and make her happy. And she would make him a good Lenape wife.

  Grave Point

  England

  “I want to go with you.” Gillian sat naked on the bed, while John dressed for the day’s work. They were discussing John’s trip to the New World to fetch Joanna Neville.

  “I don’t think that is wise,” he said.

  She scowled. “Why not?”

  “For ’tis a terribly long journey. People die onboard ship. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He stopped in the act of dressing to reach down toward the bed to brush the top of Gillian’s head with his light fingertips.

  “And because Joanna will be there,” he added in a low husky voice, “and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”

  Her expression softened. “Please.” She lay back on the bed, lowering the covers, arching upward, tempting him with the sight of her belly and breasts. He released her and straightened. She was mollified by the hot flash of desire in his gaze. “I’ll not worry about the danger if I’m with you.”

  “Gillian—”

  “If I promise to behave?” she asked softly, sliding her body up sensually on the sheets.

  He swallowed hard. With his trousers on and his shirt unbuttoned, he moved toward the bed. The sex between them had been particularly good during the night. Lately, he had felt a need for her that surpassed his desire for any other woman.

  It would be hard to leave her behind, he thought. But he should. And what of Joanna? Could he hide his desire for Gillian in front of the woman he planned to marry?

  Gillian moved on the bed, shoving the bedcovers down farther, exposing the dark nest of curly hair between her legs. “Do you really have to work so early?”

  They were in Gillian’s bedroom. Her parents were away for the night. Gillian had sneaked him past the servants, but assured him that none of the help would tell if they saw him coming or leaving.

  There had been an added thrill to their lovemaking, bolstered by the fact that they were doing something as illicit as having sex beneath her father’s roof.

  “Gillian,” John rasped harshly as he reached out to stroke her leg.

  “It’s such a long day and I’ll miss you,” she purred, stretching her body languidly. “Come back to bed for a little while.”

  “I should go.” She looked so warm, so lush . . . so inviting, he thought. Just another hour. What harm could there be if he stayed another hour? Her parents weren’t expected home any time soon.

  She opened her legs slightly, giving him a better view of her hidden secrets. Watching him closely, she touched herself briefly, drawing his attention to her actions, pleased to see the way the expression in his eyes changed.

  “Please, John.”

  His shaft was rock-hard beneath his breeches. John wanted to take her, thrust deeply inside her warmth, until she cried out with release. She made him feel huge and tall and all man. She didn’t want Michael. It wasn’t the first twin she loved. She desired him, only him—John Burton, the second son to his father, but the one who came first in this incredibly lovely woman’s affections.

  She stared at him with beautiful violet eyes, blinked up at him with thick dark eyelashes. “John—”

  But he was already pulling off his shirt, tugging down his breeches. He turned, and felt proud when she gasped at the size of his throbbing manhood. He grinned, preening for her.

  “John, darling.” She held out her arms to him, and with a laugh, he pounced onto the bed.

  Their lovemaking was rough, frenzied. When it was over, and both were reeling from the sensual pleasure, Gillian rolled to her side with her head propped on her hand.

  “John,” she said softly, “let me go to the New World with you.”

  His breath laboring, he opened his eyes, and tried hard to stifle his impatience for she looked like a fairy queen, a beautiful sensual wood nymph. “Gillian—”

  “Please, John.” With her other hand, she traced a path from his chest to his stomach, then lower still. When she took his limp manhood into her fingers, his eyes glistened, and he hardened immediately.

  “I’ll be good, John,” she promised softly, rubbing him. “See how good I can be.” She bent her head and took all of him into her mouth.

  He groaned as the ecstasy began to build again and so soon. She pleasured him until he was hot and throbbing and unfulfilled, but desperate for satiation. She straightened t
o smile at him, her violet eyes glistening with passion and promise. “Please?” she whispered.

  “Yes, yes,” John rasped, his body taut and throbbing with passion. “You can go with me. Just finish what you started, damn it.”

  With a mewl of happiness, Gillian continued until they were both sated, exhausted, and immensely pleased with themselves.

  Chapter 11

  Joanna was convinced that, given her time away and her duty to Neville Manor, she should leave the village as soon as could be arranged. She couldn’t travel alone. She sought out her cousin’s husband, and asked Rising Bird to send word out to the nearest white settlement to find a suitable guide for her.

  “I can take you,” Rising Bird said.

  But Joanna wouldn’t hear of it.

  “You are needed here,” she told him. “What if the Iroquois return and attack not Bear Paw’s village but Little River?”

  And Joanna was concerned about Rising Bird’s reception in the English settlement. She knew firsthand how the white man regarded the Lenape people. Rising Bird was a kind man. He didn’t deserve to be treated badly, which she was sure would happen if he came with her into an English encampment.

  Mary studied her cousin with sad eyes. “Must you go? We were just getting reacquainted.”

  “I think it’s best,” Joanna replied. “I’ve been away from England for too long. Neville Manor is mine now. I need to return to ensure that all of my employees are well cared for.”

  Her cousin was quiet after that, and Joanna could tell that the advent of her departure bothered Mary.

  Joanna wished she could stay, but she had responsibilities in England, duties she’d neglected for too long. John was no doubt doing a good job in her absence, but it wasn’t fair to continue to burden the man with her affairs.

  She frowned. Michael Burton would need his brother John at Burton Estates. Although John had looked forward to overseeing Neville Manor, she didn’t suppose he’d expected her to be gone this long.

  How long has it been? she wondered. In her mind, she tried counting the weeks. Had it really been seven months since she’d left England? Was it July? August? She couldn’t be sure. Time seemed to stand still in Little River. There were no schedules to follow. People simply got up and ate, went about their chores as they wished, dined as they desired, and finished their day in the same way.

  It was such a peaceful and easy life, marred only by intruders such as the Iroquois who wanted to reign in terror over the land. She hoped that the problem with the Cayuga was finished, that Bear Paw and Fireheart were wrong and the enemy had no intention of coming back, at least for now.

  Rising Sun finally agreed that he should stay at the village. “I will send someone to search for Mr. Grace.”

  Joanna smiled. Mortimer Grace had been a wonderful guide on the journey here. She would be happy to travel again in his company. He knew the area well. She felt safe with him.

  “Wa-neé-shih,” she told him.

  “You are most welcome,” he said in perfect English, which made her grin.

  Later, alone with her own thoughts, Joanna realized the real reason she wanted to leave was due to Fireheart. She didn’t want to wait until the matrons decreed that Fireheart and Moon Dove would wed. Her heart couldn’t bear the pain. She didn’t want to stay and listen as the village celebrated the announcement of Fireheart’s upcoming marriage.

  Why then did she feel so terrible about the prospect of leaving? Of not seeing Fireheart again? She couldn’t stop envisioning him with Moon Dove . . . holding her . . . sleeping with her . . . their joining in the most intimate way possible....

  She wished she had lain with him that night. Joanna had wanted to feel him inside of her so badly, but reason had ruled for the both of them, and they’d decided to wait.

  Wait for what? Now there would be no intimacy between them. She would be leaving soon and have nothing to sustain her throughout the long lonely years ahead but the memory of their brief time together.

  Tears filled her eyes as she lay in the darkness, huddled within the beaver pelt lining her sleeping pallet. The night was cool for an August summer, but she suspected that the chill she felt was more from within. She knew that once she left, she might never again return, never again see Mary and Rising Bird. She would never again be able to spend time with Wild Squirrel, his wife Stormy Wind, or her good friend Little Blossom.

  But the thing that most saddened her was that she knew her heart would remain in Little River forever, with her beloved Fireheart. When she returned to England, she would be but an empty shell, living in a dreary manor that had been left to her by her uncle.

  “Will you walk with me?” Mary asked softly as Rising Bird left to arrange for a messenger. The brave had said he had an idea where Grace might be currently staying.

  “If you’d like,” Joanna said congenially. She followed her cousin from the village onto a path that led in the opposite direction from the lake. They walked in silence for a time until Joanna spied a stream ahead. “Oh, look! Does that feed from the lake?”

  Mary shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. There is a river before us. We had set up our village in a clearing near the river, and then we found the lake. Wild Squirrel thought the area near the lake a better place for the village, so we moved it.”

  They had continued walking as Mary spoke. There, through a break in the trees, Joanna spied the sparkle of water.

  “Is that it? Over there?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Mary changed direction. “Come and I’ll show you.”

  They left the path, cutting through the forest until they reached the river’s edge. The river was lovely, adequate for the needs of the Lenape people, but Joanna could see why Wild Squirrel had decided to move his village to the larger lake. From the direction of the water flow, she realized that the river emptied into the lake. It probably fed the stream they’d passed as well.

  The forest was beautiful at this time of year. There had been enough rainfall to keep the foliage a bright green. The ground was dry, but not dusty either. Joanna spied wildflowers growing near a clump of briars. She thought to pick one, but decided against it when she saw the number of thorns on their stems.

  Mary was silent as they walked for a time along the river. Finally, she halted and gestured to a natural seat made by an unusually low limb of a tree.

  Joanna had worn her doeskin tunic that day so she hopped onto the limb easily, settling herself next to Mary once her cousin was seated.

  “Joanna,” Mary began, sounding strange.

  Joanna looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “We need to talk. I want to know about your life in England.”

  “No,” Joanna said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Joanna—”

  “I can’t,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She silently cursed her weakness. “I’m sorry.” She climbed down from the tree. “If this is why you wanted me to come—”

  Mary hopped down behind her. “Don’t!” She hurried forward to clasp her young cousin’s arm. “Joanna, stop, please.” She was on the verge of tears herself as she turned Joanna to face her. “You told me that you were unhappy there,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Don’t you see? I have to know! I sent you there, and I need to know!”

  Joanna stared at her cousin, and realized how upset she was. “It’s all right, Mary. I’m here and I’m fine. Whatever happened years ago, it doesn’t matter now.”

  “Are you certain?” Mary asked brokenly.

  Filled with sympathy, something she hadn’t expected to feel, Joanna smiled as she caught Mary’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Kihiila.” She tugged her hand as she started back toward the village. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t want you to leave,” Mary admitted.

  A shudder went through Joanna. “Thank you. I needed to hear that although it doesn’t change the fact that I must.”

  “Why?”

  “I have property to care for now. P
eople who rely on me.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “I don’t know.” Joanna’s voice was barely a whisper. She didn’t think she could bear seeing Fireheart married to another, especially years from now when they’d have had children.

  “How soon will you leave?”

  “As soon as we hear from Mortimer Grace,” Joanna said.

  “Does your leaving have anything to do with Fireheart?”

  Joanna felt a jolt. “I don’t know what you mean—”

  “You care for him. I’ve watched you.” Mary smiled.

  “You love him, don’t you?”

  “No!” she denied. At her cousin’s look, she lowered her gaze and admitted, “Yes.”

  “I understand.”

  Joanna blinked and looked at her. “You do?”

  Mary nodded. “Come on. Let’s go back and spend some time together in the village before you have to leave.”

  The Iroquois came in the night. They entered the village with shrill war cries, and tomahawks and war clubs raised to fight. Joanna heard the wild screams and jerked up in bed, gasping.

  “Stay here,” Rising Bird ordered as he grabbed his weapons and ran out into the night.

  Mary and Joanna huddled together and listened to the fighting.

  Dogs barked in the compound. Joanna heard a man shriek with pain and held Mary tighter. She heard the pain-filled squeal of an animal.

  “How can we just stay here?” she whispered, terrified. Her mind raced with thoughts of the others within the village. Wild Squirrel, Little Blossom, the children ... Fireheart.

  “We must listen to Rising Bird,” Mary answered. Joanna could feel her cousin’s trembling.

  Were they going to die? What had happened to the Lenape guards watching the village? Had they been taken by surprise and then murdered?

  Joanna pulled herself from her cousin’s arms.

  “What are you doing?” Mary whispered.

  “I’m going to see what’s happening.”

  “No, Joanna! Stay inside,” her cousin warned as she watched the younger woman move to the door.