Candace McCarthy

by Fireheart

  Anger burned hotly in his chest as he turned away from the fornicating couple.

  Joanna and her friends left the village the next day. Fireheart was gone. Black Fox had returned with the information Fireheart had requested about the enemy, and Fireheart had accompanied his party of men to the Iroquois encampment to the far north.

  Although she longed to stay for Fireheart’s return, Joanna realized that now was the best time to leave. Her departure would be more painful if she waited to see the chief again.

  She said good-bye to Mary and to Rising Bird who had stayed behind this time. Tears filled her eyes as she hugged her cousin.

  “I’ll write,” she promised Mary.

  Mary nodded. “I’ll write, too,” she said. “Every month, just like I did before.”

  “You sent me other letters?” Joanna asked, puzzled.

  “Yes.” Mary looked confused, and then anger brightened her expression. “He kept them from you, didn’t he? Roderick Neville took my letters and got rid of them before you knew they’d come.”

  Joanna felt a sudden happiness. “You didn’t forget me when you sent me away,” she said. “You didn’t forget about me.”

  “No. No!” Mary’s face crumbled as she gave way to tears. “I love you. I didn’t want you to go. I’d hoped you would want to return, but—”

  John shifted impatiently behind her.

  “Joanna, we need to go,” Gillian said, urging her friend.

  Joanna glanced at her best friend and nodded. “I’ll write, and if I can, I’ll come back for a visit. I don’t know how soon it will be. . . .”

  Mary nodded, her eyes bright. “Be safe.”

  Rising Bird embraced his adopted daughter. “We will miss you, Autumn Wind,” he whispered.

  “Don’t,” she said, aching, willing him not to cry. If he did, he would open up her floodgates, and she would be unable to stop sobbing. Her throat felt so tight that the lump at its base hurt her.

  “Farewell, daughter,” Woman with Eyes of Hawk said.

  Words were exchanged between her and her friends. There was Stormy Wind—her grandmother. Little Blossom with her husband Broken Bow and her daughter Water Flower. Even Moon Dove was there to see her off.

  She smiled at all of them, then turned to John and Gillian. “I’m ready,” she murmured.

  “Let’s go, then,” John said.

  Joanna waved to her Lenape friends and left with John and Gillian, accompanied by Thomas Brown who had waited to take them back to the nearest white settlement.

  Good-bye, Fireheart, she thought, hurting.

  Drums began to play shortly after the village was out of sight. The music was for her, Joanna realized, a farewell song. And it was then that she surrendered to tears.

  Night had fallen. As Fireheart waited with his men, he could see the guards posted about the Iroquois encampment. A tall fence surrounded the village. They would have to get past the guards and the stockade to capture the Cayuga sachem in his longhouse.

  The feat wouldn’t be an easy one. The Iroquois lived in structures large enough for many families. How could a few Lenape venture inside, kidnap the leader, and then escape without harm or capture?

  Fireheart knew the risk he and his men were taking that evening. If the Cayuga caught them, they would be put to death or worse. The Iroquois delighted in torture. He had seen the remains of one of their victims, a sight that would forever be embedded in his memory.

  There were fourteen warriors with Fireheart. He had asked Rising Bird to stay behind. If something happened to him, the warrior would avenge his death and see to his replacement.

  They waited in the forest for the night to deepen. The best chance they had was while the villagers slept. They could easily dispose of the four guards near the gate and the stockade’s perimeter.

  The plan had been clear to Fireheart: kidnap the Cayuga chief and make him talk of peace. Perhaps when he realized how vulnerable he was, Flaming Sky would be swayed. He could be made to understand that the Lenape people had killed his brothers not in aggression but in self-defense.

  His men were spread out about the woods. As he lay in his own hiding place, Fireheart longed for Joanna. Had she left? Would he ever see her again?

  His heart continued to beat with the sound of her name. Autumn Wind. He closed his eyes, then abruptly shook himself back to the present. He forced her from his mind because he had to. Autumn Wind.

  An owl cry captured his attention, and Fireheart’s last thoughts were of the woman he loved as he crept toward an Iroquois guard with raised tomahawk.

  Joanna, Gillian, and John followed Thomas Brown through the forest on trails, occasionally veering from the path in whatever direction the fur trapper decided. Their departure day was beautiful. The weather was warm, but not humid, and the sun burned in a clear sky, its light filtering past the trees to brighten their travels.

  “We’ll stop here for a brief rest,” Brown said.

  Joanna was more than happy to stop. They’d been journeying since first light. The sun was directly overhead. She was hungry, having eaten only a corn cake in the village before they’d left.

  They halted, and their guide rummaged through the pouch he had secured at his waist. Withdrawing several strips of dried venison, he handed each of them a piece.

  “Eat up. We’ll not be stopping again until nightfall.”

  Gillian groaned softly, but Joanna nodded. John glared at the man as he chewed off a piece of meat. “How long before we reach the nearest settlement?” he asked. They had come a different way. The area looked unfamiliar to him.

  Brown shrugged. “A couple of days or so. It depends on how quickly the ladies can travel.”

  “We’ll be able to keep up,” Joanna said, speaking for both of them. The farther away from the village they’d come the more dispirited she’d felt. She missed Mary and Rising Bird. She missed the Lenape people . . . and she especially longed to see Fireheart.

  “May I have some water?” Gillian asked, her voice sounding small.

  Joanna gave her friend the water-skin she’d been carrying. She explained how to drink from it without spilling, and watched as Gillian quenched her thirst. When Gillian was done, Joanna took back the skin, drank some of the water herself, and set the container down on the ground beside her.

  Her first thought before leaving was to wear her doeskin tunic for the garment would be the best for traveling, better than the blue calico gown she had finally chosen to wear. But she had realized that she would look out of place once they’d reached the settlement.

  Her feet hurt, but she hadn’t complained. She had discarded her comfortable moccasins for her old leather shoes.

  Flashing her friend a glance, Joanna saw that Gillian fared no better. She looked tired. Her midnight hair was disheveled, and her features were drawn. She had come through the wilderness because she’d been worried about her friend. Grateful, Joanna smiled at the young woman, and touched her arm in sympathy for her discomfort.

  She turned her attention to her other friend, now her fiancé, John. He was handsome, she thought with affection. But would she—could she—be happy as his wife?

  For not the first time since she’d accepted his proposal, Joanna experienced doubts. She and John were friends. He loved her in his own way, he’d said. She could be happy with someone who loved her, she thought. She closed her eyes on a wave of pain. She could be happy with Fireheart. Would she be happy with John? Would she make him a good wife?

  Fireheart was marrying another. She would be happy with John, she told herself. Very happy.

  Joanna ignored the tiny voice inside her that said she would be more miserable in England with John than she would be in the village, even with Fireheart married to another.

  Chapter 17

  The Lenape braves returned to their village, triumphant. They had entered the camp of the enemy war party, and they had kidnapped their chief. Although the encampment hadn’t housed a village of Iroquois families like th
ey’d first thought, it had been a nasty battle for the Lenape band of men. The stockade had protected a band of Cayuga and Seneca warriors. Two Lenape warriors had been wounded in the fight. Three Iroquois were dead, and countless others injured.

  The only reason that Fireheart and his men had been successful was that they, unlike the enemy, had had the advantage of surprise. They had taken the Iroquois unawares, and had been successful. The Lenape men had Flaming Sky as their captive. Fireheart hoped to win the peace the Indian people of the area needed.

  Entering the village ahead of his men, Fireheart searched the compound, clutching his right shoulder. He had been slightly injured during the raid when an Iroquois warrior and he had tussled with knives drawn. A hard smile formed on his lips at the memory. He had fared much better than the Seneca. He was alive with only a scratched shoulder while the Iroquois was dead.

  Women and children greeted them. Fireheart looked for Joanna, and found Moon Dove instead. It was how it should be, he thought.

  “Moon Dove,” he said with a smile.

  Her concerned gaze studied his shoulder. “You must let me bathe you and bandage your wound.”

  He nodded, and she looked relieved. “Come,” she said. He studied her with amusement as she grabbed his other arm, and pulled him across the yard to his own wigwam. She tugged him inside, and instructed him to sit. He complied, surprised and not displeased at this new display of spirit.

  “If you do not have it cleaned, it will become filled with bad spirits,” she murmured as she poured water into a bowl and found a piece of soft doeskin. As she rinsed the area around his injury, she clucked her tongue, and asked about the raid.

  “We accomplished what we went for,” he said darkly.

  She paused, her hand poised over the wound, and looked at him. “It was bad?”

  He saw her worry and shook his head. “None of our people were killed. Some Iroquois, but no Lenape.”

  Releasing a relieved sigh, Moon Dove continued to wash his arm. Watching her, Fireheart wondered why she would display such relief then decided it was because she cared deeply for her warrior friends who had gone.

  When the wound was bathed, Moon Dove set down the water. “I shall return with medicine for your injury.” She scurried out the door.

  While she was gone, Fireheart thought how nice it was to have awoman provide care for him. He thought of Joanna, and felt a shaft of pain. Better to think of Moon Dove and the comfort she would offer him as his wife. And if he felt no passion, no burning desire for Moon Dove, who was to say it wouldn’t come in time?

  Never, an inner voice said. Your soul is pledged to Autumn Wind.

  Yet where was Joanna? She had not come to greet him as Moon Dove and the others had.

  Fireheart forced the voice from his head, and concentrated instead on the woman who would return soon to bandage his wound.

  A brave stepped from the shadows, intercepting Moon Dove’s path as she crossed from her wigwam to the sachem’s.

  “Moon Dove.”

  She gasped, and clutched the medicine bundle to her breast. “Black Fox! You frightened me.”

  His expression softening, he took her hand. “Come, I must talk with you.”

  She shook her head and pulled away. “I cannot talk now. Fireheart is injured. I must tend to his wounds.”

  Emotion worked across the warrior’s features. “Fireheart has suffered only a scratch.”

  “He was cut with a knife!”

  He scowled. “He will heal. He does not need your medicine to make him well.”

  A hurt look entered her dark eyes. “Why are you saying this? You know my medicine will help him.”

  The warrior sighed. “I am jealous. I wish to have you for my own, and you will belong to our sachem. ”

  Moon Dove’s eyes filled with tears. “We must not speak of this—”

  “Your love for me?” he challenged.

  She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I must go.” She started to leave him.

  “Wait!”

  She froze and faced him, her heart beating wildly within her breast.

  “Say that you love me, and I will be content.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Tell me you don’t love me then.”

  Her features contorted with emotion. “I cannot do that either.” She was bound to the chief, but her heart belonged to Black Fox.

  He nodded then, and a small smile came to his lips. “This man loves you as well,” he said.

  They stopped for the night, camping under some trees, but where a clearing allowed them a campfire. As Thomas Brown worked to ignite a flame, Joanna wondered if there were Iroquois in the area. If there were, she thought, the fire would alert the Indians that there were white men about.

  She offered a silent prayer for their safety, and sat down on a blanket the fur trapper had also thoughtfully provided. Gillian sat beside her.

  “How are you faring?” Joanna asked her friend. Gillian smiled weakly. “I’m fine. A bit tired, but I’ll live.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Joanna said, making Gillian grin.

  They sat companionably for a time, sharing a container of water, watching Brown and John build their campfire into a roaring flame.

  “John said that the fire would keep away wild animals,” Gillian commented.

  “Which ones?” Joanna said. “The four-legged or two-legged kind?”

  Fear flashed across her friend’s face, and Joanna instantly regretted her teasing remark.

  “Oh, Gillian,” she said, “I’m sorry. I was joking. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

  Gillian nodded, but hugged herself with her arms.

  The blanket was large enough for both women to share. Fortunately, with the warm night there was no need for a top cover. Each man had his own sleeping pallet, and John settled down on his while Brown took his rifle to hunt dinner.

  Joanna turned her gaze from Brown as he entered the dark regions of the forest, disappearing from view, and found John studying her.

  “We’ll be on our way back to England in no time,” he said with a smile.

  She nodded. The thought gave her no pleasure. She had not missed the comforts of Neville Manor. She had been raised among the Lenape, and found she had adjusted quite well upon her return. And she didn’t relish the idea of getting on another sailing ship.

  “Come here,” John said. “I’d like to talk with you.” She frowned. She could hear him very well from where she sat. But, she supposed, so could Gillian. Why shouldn’t Gillian hear what he had to say?

  Reluctantly, she rose, and moved over to his sleeping pallet. When he patted the blanket next to him, she sat down.

  He touched her hair, and she stiffened, then lifted her face to him with a forced smile. Perhaps sensing her tension, he released her hair, and placed his hands on his raised knees.

  Joanna glanced down at his breeches, and imagined a different man’s bare knees. Fireheart’s.

  “We’re to be married, Joanna,” John said softly.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” she replied.

  “You must learn to relax with me, or how are we to be man and wife?”

  She inclined her head. “The idea is still new to me, John. We’ve been friends for so long, it seems strange to think of us as more.”

  She studied him in the firelight. He had discarded his powdered wig for his own hair. His dark tresses were thick and shiny, worn back in a queue. She wondered why men like John chose to cover up their locks when it was obvious that their own hair looked better.

  Something dark flashed in his blue eyes as she gazed at him. The emotion, whatever it was, disappeared quickly. Startled, Joanna could only stare at him, and wonder what was going on inside John’s thoughts.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “About the wedding—”

  “We’re not even on England’s soil yet,” she said, feeling dismay. “There will be time enough to think about such things.”

/>   He looked hurt. “I just thought—”

  She sighed heavily, and apologized. “John, I’m sorry, but I’m tired, and I can’t think of anything other than sleep.”

  His expression softened. “It has been a long day,” he said with obvious relief.

  “Yes, it has.” She glanced at Gillian. “Gillian is tired, too. She’s been a real friend through all of this.” She shook her head with amazement. “How on earth did she manage to convince you to let her come?”

  A smile curved her fiancé’s lips. “She pleaded her case, and though I was reluctant at first, I relented.” A gleam lit his blue eyes as he looked at the woman on the other blanket. “She can be very persuasive.”

  Joanna knew that Gillian could be stubborn and extremely convincing when she wanted to be. She had seen the young woman in action among the daughters of her uncle’s peers. When Joanna had first come to England, she’d been ostracized, labeled “that heathen niece of Roderick Neville.” It had been Gillian who had come to her defense, befriending Joanna when the other girls kept their distance. Finally, through Gillian’s persistence, some of the other girls started being friendly. In Gillian’s own quiet way, she had seen that Joanna was accepted.

  Gillian had lain down on the blanket. She opened her eyes to find both John and Joanna staring at her. She seemed to blanch until Joanna got up, and approached her with a smile.

  “John was telling me that you can be persuasive when you want,” she said. “I asked him how you managed to come along on this journey.”

  Gillian flashed John a nervous glance. Some of the tension left her features as she faced her friend. “I threatened to release all of your horses should I be left behind. It would have caused quite a stir.”

  “Gillian!” Joanna exclaimed with a laugh. “You wouldn’t!”

  Gillian lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I know that, but he didn’t.”

  The two women exchanged grins.

  Joanna gazed at her friend, and felt a rush of affection. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted.