by Fireheart
His expression sobered. “I know.” His voice had grown soft.
She smiled as she inclined her head. “Fine, then.” She caught his arm, and together they headed toward the village. “Have you tried the Indians’ corn cakes yet, John?”
He shook his head. He had tried, though, some of their other dishes and had found them surprisingly palatable—and even sweet, considering savages had made them. But he didn’t tell her that. These savages were her friends, family even.
He nodded appropriately as she chatted with him on the return journey to the Indian town. He understood, though, why Roderick Neville had felt it necessary to rescue her from this savage place. When they were married, he’d ensure that she never again felt the need to visit the Indians.
“Fireheart, there is word that the Cayuga are joining with their Seneca brothers in the north.”
The chief and several of his men were in the sachem’s wigwam. Stormy Wind had moved out and into the Lenape longhouse of her clan, the Turtle. Reluctantly, Fireheart had left the wigwam of the Wolf clan and moved in.
The new sachem was thoughtful after listening to the words of Turtle That Hops. “Where is the Cayuga?”
“The prisoner is being held in the longhouse of my mother,” the brave said.
“Bring him to me.”
The warrior agreed and left.
The Iroquois captive had been kept alive during Wild Squirrel’s funeral ceremony. There had been no time to take care of him. Fireheart wondered if the occasion was right to kill him, or whether it would be wiser to release him.
Several of the braves offered suggestions on what to do with the enemy prisoner, their tones laced with satisfaction as they envisioned the mental images. Turtle That Hops returned moments later, shoving the bound prisoner into the wigwam before him.
The Cayuga tumbled to the ground at Fireheart’s feet. The captive raised his head to glare at him.
“What was the name of your sachem?” Fireheart demanded.
With the help of Turtle That Hops, the Iroquois climbed to his knees. Fireheart queried him again, and the Cayuga stared at him without answering.
“I asked you a question,” Fireheart said easily.
Turtle That Hops grabbed the Indian’s bound arms and pulled them upward. The Cayuga gasped with pain and fell to the ground. With a nod from the chief, Turtle That Hops helped him up again.
“Who is your chief?”
The brave mumbled something beneath his breath.
“He said it is Great Thunder,” Rising Bird said. He sat nearest to the Cayuga, on Fireheart’s right side.
“Was Great Thunder,” Fireheart corrected. “Your chief is dead.”
“My people will come and seek vengeance!” the Cayuga spat.
“We did not attack your people. We are a peaceful nation. We fight when we are threatened. We kill when we must defend ourselves. Untie him,” Fireheart said.
Several of the Lenape braves looked surprised while others looked pleased as they anticipated the Cayuga’s torture. Turtle That Hops undid the sinew strips binding the man’s wrists, and then the ties that bound his ankles.
When he was free, the Cayuga stood before Fireheart, his head held high, unafraid.
Studying the man, Fireheart had to admire his courage. “You are free to go,” he said.
There was a chorus of low murmurs among the Lenape war chiefs as Fireheart offered the prisoner his freedom.
The Cayuga stared at Fireheart distrustfully.
“Go. We will not harm you,” he said. His dark eyes narrowed in warning and his voice deepened as he continued. “But tell your brothers that we will be ready for them if they come to us again. Keep your brothers to their longhouses. Next time, we will kill you. Not one of you will escape.”
The Iroquois looked around him at each Lenape warrior with fear.
“They will not harm you. No one will harm you.”
“This is so,” Rising Bird said in support of his chief.
“We will not hurt you,” echoed Black Fox.
Each of Fireheart’s men assured the Cayuga that he would not be harmed.
The Iroquois started to back out the doorway.
Turtle That Hops briefly held out his hand. “Come,” he said. “I will take you to the edge of the forest so that no one within the village will be afraid and kill you.”
His eyes fluttering nervously, the Cayuga nodded.
When the enemy had gone, all eyes turned to the new chief.
Fireheart’s gaze went to the war chief, Black Fox. “Take some men and follow him. Don’t let him know you are there. Learn where he goes and if our enemy prepares for a new battle. Learn this and return here so that we shall know.”
The sound of approval swept about the sachem’s wigwam.
“This is a wise thing, Fireheart,” Rising Bird said as the others started to leave.
“It is the only way we will know what we must fight,” Fireheart said, his features solemn. “It is the only way we can protect the Lenape people from our Iroquois enemy.”
John’s proposal of marriage gave Joanna something to think about in the days that followed. I don’t have to make a decision now, she thought. There would be plenty of time for that when they returned to England.
John and Gillian had been urging her to go. She wanted to leave, she told herself, but not yet. She wanted to talk with Fireheart one more time....
She saw him exiting his wigwam with Rising Bird and another brave. Something was happening, she realized. A problem?
During the Iroquois attack, the Lenape had taken a prisoner. Perhaps the meeting had been about the captive.
Fireheart separated from the other men, and crossed the yard toward the longhouse of his clan. Joanna, seeing her opportunity, hurriedly approached him.
“Fireheart,” she called softly.
He halted and faced her. “Autumn Wind,” he said without a smile.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Was that a slight softening in his expression? “I am well.”
“Is something wrong? I saw Rising Bird and the others.”
He frowned. “You must not be concerned.”
She had every faith in his ability as chief. “I’m not worried—”
But he was already turning away. “I must go—”
She experienced a tightening in her throat. “But—” “Fireheart!” Moon Dove approached the pair with a smile for her husband-to-be.
“Moon Dove.” His smile for the lovely Lenape maiden was soft, genuine. Joanna had never felt such pain.
“I must help Mary,” Joanna said, leaving quickly, her heart breaking into pieces.
She had to leave the village and soon!
She encountered John as she headed toward the lake. His hair was wet as if he’d been swimming.
“John,” she said impulsively, “I’ll marry you.”
Hie expression brightened. “You will?”
She nodded, anxious to be free of the village . . . of Fireheart.
“I’ll take good care of you, Joanna,” John promised.
No talk of love for there wasn’t any. But there was friendship, she reminded herself. And affection. Her chest tightening, she managed to smile at him. “I know you will, John.”
He found her alone at night while everyone congregated in the community square, sharing stories, eating food. Fireheart left the yard, and headed toward the lake. When he didn’t see her there, he went to the secluded glade where they had first kissed and held each other.
He couldn’t stay away. He knew he should avoid her, to turn away and head back to the village, but something deep within him pressed him on.
He didn’t expect to find her at the clearing, but his heart pumped hard when he did. “Autumn Wind.”
She rose to her feet with a gasp. “Fireheart!” Her blonde hair looked silver in the moonlight.
“I want to talk with you.”
She averted her gaze as he approached. “You didn’
t want to speak earlier.”
And he had regretted the moment instantly, he thought, as he’d watched her walk away. “I know this.”
He sat down on the bed of grass, tugging her down to sit at his side. For a long moment, he studied her. The moon was full, casting a soft glow through the trees and into the clearing. He could see her face cast in the shadows and light . . . the glistening of her green gaze . . . the trembling of her sweet mouth. He wanted to hold her, kiss her. He wanted to make her stay. But she was leaving. Her friends were here, and her visit was near its end. And he was to marry Moon Dove.
“Then why are you here now?” she asked suddenly, her voice weak.
“I had to talk with you again. I want you to be happy.”
“I see.” She stared at her hands, which lay in her lap. She played with her fingers, pretending great interest in their movements. But her thoughts were not on her actions, he knew. She was thinking of what to say.
He fought the urge to touch her hair, which lay unbound past her shoulders. She had donned her English gown again as if she was ready to go. He wanted to see her wear her tunic . . . to see her free and happy with her smile ready to tease. This changed woman was so different from the young girl he’d known that he was afraid for her. He knew she was there somewhere beneath the surface of cool politeness. If only he could see the real Joanna again....
“It seems that we have nothing more to say to each other,” she said as she rose to her feet.
He caught her arm, pulled her down again. He heard her sharp little intake of breath as he turned her to fully face him.
“This man will miss you,” he said huskily.
She blinked against tears and shook her head. “You will have a wife . . . someone who will make you forget you ever knew Autumn Wind.”
“Maata,” he murmured, unable to keep from wanting to kiss her. His head bent lower. “I will never forget you, Joanna.”
She stared as if mesmerized as he dipped his head and took her mouth. She groaned softly as he kissed her sweetly, tenderly.
“Fireheart.” She breathed when he lifted his head. With a startled look she pushed him away. “I am going to marry John.”
He stiffened, experiencing a pain like he’d been kicked in his midsection. “You will take the white man for your husband?”
She nodded.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
She didn’t answer him, and his heart began to soar. “I respect him and care for him,” she said.
He placed his hand on her bodice where her right breast pushed against the fabric of her gown. “Does John Burton make your heart beat faster than the way Fireheart does?”
Joanna reached up to grab his hand, wanting to pull it away, but holding it in place instead. The warmth of his touch burned her, creating a longing within her to undress and invite him to lie with her. She fought her feelings for him.
“I’m going to marry John.” She tugged Fireheart’s hand from her breast, set it to his side. “I’m sorry,” she said.
His features contorted, but she felt that he understood. “It is I who am sorry. I should not have touched you. It was not right.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured for she had liked having his hands on her. If only . . .
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I will leave Little River to journey to the north. Will you go before I return?”
“You are leaving? Why?”
“We have learned where the enemy is camped. We go to avenge our people. We must go to protect the Lenape from Iroquois attack.”
Joanna sensed that there was much he wasn’t telling her. “They are planning to attack again,” she guessed.
He didn’t answer as she studied him in the moonlight. His face was highlighted in the white glow, sharp angles and rugged planes. She wanted so desperately to stroke him, to kiss his lips, his chin . . . his jaw.
He seemed to close off his thoughts as she gazed at him. It would be a dangerous journey, she realized. Perhaps one during which his people would be killed.
A cold dark dread filled Joanna with fear. She didn’t want him to go! But how was she to stop him? He might desire her, but he didn’t love her. She had no claim on him.
He was silent for so long she wondered why he stayed. This meeting had done nothing to steal away her love for him. It had only deepened her pain.
Why had he come? she wondered. Because he felt guilty for making love to her, a virgin?
She frowned. No, she thought, such things were not viewed in the same way here as they were by the English. Neither was marriage, she realized. A brave could have more than one wife if he wanted. She had known of few relationships in which this was so, but they existed nevertheless.
“I hope you find your enemy,” she whispered. “But don’t get killed.”
He captured her chin, lifted her head, and studied her with an intensity that was unnerving.
“You are beautiful, Autumn Wind,” he murmured. “It will be a long time until this man will forget you.”
“I will never forget you,” she said, staring at his mouth. The memory of his kiss made her ache inside. She wanted those male lips pressed against hers. She wanted his arms around her, and more.
But it was more than physical attraction that drew her to him. She had seen his tenderness, his fairness and understanding when dealing with the Lenape people.
He will make a good husband, she thought. A good father.
She closed her eyes, withdrew from his hold. She rose, anxious to put distance between them.
“Be careful, Fireheart,” she said softly.
He nodded and allowed her to leave him.
She said a silent good-bye for, although she did not tell him, she would not be there when he returned to the village.
Chapter 16
“No, John, stop! Someone may see us!”
John glanced about the forest then back at the woman before him. They had slipped away from the Lenape village to be alone. And from what he could see they had succeeded. “There is no one here, Gillian,” he said. “And it’s been too long.” He backed her against a tree. “Kiss me.”
“John—”
“Now!” he ordered. He leaned in to take her lips, but she turned her head away.
“Joanna—”
“Joanna isn’t here.” He scowled with frustration. He had been hard and aching for her for days now. It had been weeks since he’d lain with her, suckled her breasts. He spanned her waist with his hands.
“But this isn’t right—”
“Gillian,” John said with great patience, “are you willing to give up what we have just because I am marrying Joanna?”
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered.
“Then why are you hesitating when Joanna and I are not even man and wife yet?” He raised a hand to stroke her face. “Now kiss me, love,” he urged.
With a shuddering sigh, she complied, kissing him with all the pent-up passion that had been simmering below the surface since they’d left the inn in Philadelphia. “Oh, John,” she moaned after he’d nibbled on her lips and devoured the inside of her mouth.
“Yes, Gillian,” he rasped. Her breasts pushed up from the neckline of her gown. He reached inside her bodice and freed a plump ripe mound. As he cupped the soft swell, the nipple hardened, begging for his lips. He bent his head to capture the red bud between this teeth. Gillian gasped, arching, and caught his head with her hands.
“Oh, John . . .”
“Say it, Gilly,” he said. “Tell me it’s been too long and you want me.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Say it.” His lips released her breast and he fondled her, one mound in each hand.
She whimpered. “Yes, yes! Take me! It’s been too long....”
He held up her breasts and nuzzled in the cleavage before sucking each one until she wriggled against him. He stepped back to free himself quickly, then he was lifting her skirts, pressing her against the tree, and
plunging into her.
Gillian alternately moaned and gasped, and made little cries of pleasure deep in her throat as John thrust into her again and again. She screamed out her release, and his harsh cry joined hers within seconds.
When they were done, Gillian looked down at herself, saw her breasts lying above her gown, and felt the air about her bare legs and the dampness between her legs as he pulled out of her.
“There,” John said with a grin. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She gazed at him with her heart in her eyes and a lump of yearning in her throat. She loved him. She wanted to marry him, but he was to wed her best friend.
Heat burned in her belly as she thought of Joanna. She felt terribly guilty although John told her she shouldn’t. She doesn’t love him like I do, she thought.
“Gillian?” he said, perhaps reading the concern in her face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she assured him, nodding vigorously. She slipped first one breast then the other back into her gown bodice. “I’m fine.”
“You still love me, don’t you?” he asked, sounding unsure.
Gillian’s eyes met his, and her heart melted. He looked boyish, uncertain. She had to reassure him. “Yes, I love you,” she said softly.
He beamed a smile at her. “Don’t,” he said, as she began to lower and straighten her skirts. “I’m not done.”
Her eyes flashed with surprise as his hand snaked under her petticoats and found the most secret part of her, still pulsating. She gasped and stiffened as he began to stroke and worry the tiny nub of hidden pleasure. Gasping, she slid down the base of the tree, and he followed her down. As she lay on the ground with her skirts raised, and his hand caressing her, arousing her to the point of pain, John smiled and kissed her, then sent her over the pinnacle.
He heard the woman’s cries and the man’s grunt of pleasure. The brave saw the pair against the tree, and there was no doubt in his mind what the two were doing.
The Indian frowned. If what Little Blossom said was true, John Burton was to be Autumn Wind’s husband. But the woman with him was the other one, Gillian Gordon, Joanna’s friend.