by Fireheart
Mortimer caught Joanna’s meaningful look and nodded. “Ya’d best listen to Miss Neville,” he said. “She knows the ways of women, being one herself and all.”
Joanna’s lips curved with amusement. “Why, thank you, Mr. Grace.”
The man’s cheek turned a bright shade of red. He brusquely ordered a stop for rest and food, then quickly excused himself and walked away. Richard, muttering about the burdens of females, followed him, leaving Abigail and Joanna alone together.
“Thank you,” Abigail whispered, her brown eyes shining with gratitude.
Joanna’s smile was compassionate. “Do you have something for the pain?” she asked in a gentle voice.
Abigail shook her head. “Mum would have given me chamomile tea, but I’ve not had a drop of tea since I left England two months past.”
“I’ve got a remedy for you, but ’tis Lenape so you must trust me that it works for pain.”
The woman looked uncertain. “Have you used it?” “Yes. The first time I had it I was but a child who lived among the Lenape.”
“You lived among the Indians?” She appeared startled.
“Yes, from the time I was five years old until I was sent to England at fourteen.”
“You must have been glad when you left,” Abigail said. “For England, I mean. ’Tis a better place than this wilderness.”
“On the contrary,” Joanna said stiffly, “my time here was a much happier life.” She reached into the small pocket sewn inside her skirts, and pulled out a handful of dried herbs. “I can make you a tea. We’ve no sugar to sweeten it, but it’s palatable just the same.”
The woman eyed the dried leaves in Joanna’s extended palm, wincing when she was seized by a menstrual cramp. “This will work?” She sounded desperate.
“As sure as my name is Joanna Neville,” Joanna told her. “I’ll ask Mortimer if we can have a fire. If we can, I’ll brew you the tea. All right?”
Abigail nodded. “Aye. Thank you,” she said sincerely, trying to smile past her pain.
“You’re welcome, Abigail.” She leaned close to whisper. “We females have to stand together,” she said in a tone much like the one that Richard Weatherby had used just minutes before.
Then Joanna saw that the woman was seated before she went to discuss the length of their stay with Mortimer. She also wanted to talk with him about the possibility of having a small campfire.
John knew he had to be careful as he headed back to the Lenape village. He and the Iroquois hadn’t traveled far. It wouldn’t take him long to go back, find Joanna, and take her away.
I should be able to get in and out easily, he thought. The Gawing had brought guests from other Indian villages. He could slip in and out of the village during the night while the Indians were busy feasting and playing their silly games.
As he’d expected, he found the village of Little River with no problem, drawn by the sound of the drums. As he approached, he could hear the shouts and laughter of the Indians at the games.
John stayed in the forest. He found an area near the lake from which to watch. He decided to look for Joanna there first, in the hope that she would come to the water to bathe or swim.
He waited a time, and then became impatient when she didn’t appear. Where was she? he wondered.
He dared to move closer to the activities, and found a spot high in a tree from where he could easily observe the village below. He searched for a time for Joanna’s blonde hair, but still he couldn’t find her.
As John debated whether or not to get down from the tree, a thought occurred to him. Was it possible that Joanna had left? Could the guide she’d been awaiting have arrived to take her away? Was she on her way, as he sat on his tree limb, bound for Philadelphia? It would explain why he hadn’t spotted her.
Damn! John cursed the time he’d wasted, but how was he to have known?
A sudden smile curved his lips. Away from the savages, Joanna would be easier to abduct once he’d found her. With only a lone man to defend her, he’d be able to kidnap her from under the tracker’s nose. She’d be helpless and at his mercy.
John’s smile widened into a grin. He didn’t know when she’d left, but it couldn’t have been long ago. He and the Indian had left before her, and he’d retraced his steps to the village quickly enough. Joanna, he thought, you’ll not escape me now.
The tea worked wonders for Mrs. Weatherby who was smiling gratefully at Joanna while feeling no pain. “Wonderful medicine,” she said, slurring her words lightly.
Joanna smiled. “I told you it would work.” “Aye, ya did.” Abigail grinned at her husband.
“She did, ya know, Richard. Joanna said I would feel all better, and I do.” She turned back to Joanna. “You must tell me how to get more.”
Mortimer met Joanna’s gaze with a lift of his eyebrows. Joanna grinned back, then watched with amusement as Richard Weatherby patted his wife’s shoulder awkwardly.
“You are well enough to travel, love?” he asked.
“Cer-tain-ly!” Abigail quipped as if she were intoxicated. She stood up, and teetered drunkenly on her feet. “We can leave now. I can walk for hours so we can make up for lost time.”
“We’ll not be going anywhere this night,” Mortimer said with a twinkle in his eyes. “We’ll move out at first light. Mr. Weatherby, you’d best get your wife to bed so that she’ll be well rested in the morning.”
When Richard looked as he were about to object, Mortimer flashed him a telling glance. His decision to stay was final. They would sleep here in this sheltered clearing for the night, then set out at first light.
Joanna was more than happy to remain there for the night. Despite her belief, Abigail would not have gone far before she needed to stop to sleep. The tea was a powerful elixir for pain. The woman was already feeling light-headed. In a half hour, she’d be fast asleep. By the next morning, Abigail would be better, and more capable of journeying through the woods.
Joanna dug into her satchel for the blanket she’d managed to fold up small enough to fit in. It had been a gift from Mary, another generous offering like Joanna’s doeskin tunic and kilt.
Her eyes filled with tears as a wave of longing came over her. Joanna had had to leave the tunic behind for the journey through the forest would be long, and she’d needed to keep her pack light. Still the memory of Mary’s gift made her wish she were back in the village. She wanted to see her cousin again. She yearned to see everyone . . . especially Fireheart.
She managed a small smile through her tears. At least, she was able to bring the kilt. As she envisioned her late uncle, a small defiant grin curved her mouth. With Roderick’s death, she could don the kilt whenever she felt like it. Whenever she wanted to feel bold and daring and free, she would put on the kilt in the privacy of her bedchamber, and dance half-naked in the candlelight before the mirror.
Joanna had to stifle the bubble of laughter that rose up in her throat. I can dance naked as a Lenape under the stars if I like, Roderick Neville!
Chapter 29
A cold hand clamped over Joanna’s mouth in the night, waking her. It was dark. Unable to focus her gaze at first, she struggled against the hold until a low male voice whispered in her ear to keep quiet, or be killed.
Joanna froze, and waited for the man’s next move. He shifted his hand slightly, and in a gruff whisper warned her again to be silent.
“I’ll kill them, every one of them if you make so much as a whimper,” he said in a more familiar voice.
John! Joanna nodded in answer. He released her mouth, and straightened to grin down at her wickedly.
“Get up, Joanna,” he ordered.
She obeyed him because she saw that he had a knife and another weapon—an Indian war club. She shuddered. Why hadn’t she asked Fireheart what had been done to John?
“I thought you were dead,” she hissed as he grabbed her arm, and dragged her from the campsite out of Mortimer Grace’s and the others’ earshot.
“Disappo
inted to see me alive?” he taunted.
She glared at him. “Extremely.”
Anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Too bad, darling Joanna. I’m here, alive and well, and I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”
He reached out and cupped the section of her skirts that covered her femininity. Joanna gasped, and batted his hand away only to have her arm taken into his grip and wrenched upward brutally. When she cried out with the pain, he ordered her to silence.
He released her arm, shoving her away so hard that she fell on the ground, winded. As she glared up at him, she felt her bones turn to jelly as her courage startled to falter.
He’s going to kill me, she thought. But not before he had a chance to play some of his sick games with her.
It would be rape and death for her if she didn’t get away. John had been injured recently. As she stared at his cut cheek, Joanna vowed to accept death over rape. He wouldn’t have the chance to defile her. She would kill herself first before she’d allow his hands on her.
“Let’s go.” He jerked her to her feet, then shoved her before him.
“Where are we going?”
“Fort Dobbs,” he said. “Did you think I’d be foolish enough to take ya to Philadelphia right off when your man and the others will be headed there, too?”
Joanna hid her relief. John didn’t know that the Weatherbys were on their way to Fort Dobbs. If she were lucky, Mortimer would get there before her and John. If she saw him, she could gain his attention and ask for help.
She held on to that hope, small as it was, and followed John’s commands so he wouldn’t hurt her. Joanna hid a smile. They were traveling a different way than Mortimer had chosen. They were not likely to meet up with Mortimer before reaching the fort. She hadn’t lost all chances for escape.
She fought the urge to grin until she reminded herself that there was still a full day’s journey to the settlement. Much could happen in that length of time. She must keep her wits about her, and figure out a way to be alone.
It would be a difficult feat to accomplish. With Gillian dead, John wanted her now, but unlike Gillian, Joanna wasn’t willing. That fact, unfortunately, didn’t seem to concern John Burton, but then what did a murderer have to lose when his hanging death was already imminent?
“Where is Autumn Wind?” Fireheart asked Mary Wife. “I have not seen her for two days. Is she ill?”
With the knowledge of John Burton’s escape weighing on him, he wanted to see Joanna, to ensure that she was unharmed and well, safe in her cousin’s wigwam.
“You don’t know?” Mary said, surprise mirrored in her eyes. “Joanna is not here. She left on the third day of the Gawing.”
“She left!” Fireheart’s blood froze. “Why did she not come to say good-bye.”
Mary’s face softened. “She told me that she had already said good-bye to you, Fireheart.”
“But I had something more to say—”
“Well, it cannot be said,” she replied. “Joanna has gone to England. She left with Mortimer Grace. She’ll be coming up on Fort Dobbs first. About now, I’d say.”
“John Burton has escaped,” he said quietly.
“No!” Mary said. “She’ll be in danger.”
“Kihiila. I’m going after her—” He turned to leave.
“Fireheart!” Mary cried, grabbing his arm. “Bring her back safely. I don’t care what you have to do, but bring her back to us.”
“If she will come,” he said.
“What will you be telling her when you see her?” she asked. “That you love her? That you’ll not be marrying Moon Dove?”
His face grim, he inclined his head.
“Then she’ll come,” Mary said with conviction. “The girl loves you. She will come if you but ask her.”
She smelled the smoke from the chimneys at Fort Dobbs and knew the settlement was close. Joanna tried to contain her joy that soon she would be around others, people who might be able to help.
It had been a challenge to keep John from touching her. She avoided his touch whenever she could, and for some strange reason, he didn’t carry out his threat and try something more. He must have a plan for her. She only wished she knew what it was.
At present, the thought of a real bed in a cabin excited her. Sleep, she thought. Real sleep . . . unless John insisted they share a room. Then she would be back where she was before, nervous, alert, and afraid to sleep.
When the first sight of the settlement rose before them, John grabbed her arm to halt her. “You’re my wife while we’re here. Do you understand? My wife, and no one is to know otherwise.”
She frowned. “What if they don’t believe us?”
He scowled at her. “You’d best do a good job of playacting, or else you and anyone who learns the truth will die. Would you like someone’s death on your conscience?”
“No,” she murmured, glaring at him with hate.
He squeezed her arm hard. “Is that any way for you to gaze at your beloved husband?”
She gasped at the pain, and forced a smile on her face. He eased his grip. “Not good enough,” he said. “Try again.” Joanna gave him a sappy grin. “Better.” He chuckled. “But try to look a little more loving.”
“I’ll do it,” she promised. “When I’m in there and forced to, but not before. Do you hear me?”
“Don’t make threats or tell me what to do, bitch!” Tugging her arm, he wrenched her forward. “Move!”
The settlement was on a huge plot of land that had been cleared of lumber and fenced in. Joanna’s heart started to pound as she and John entered through the gate, and greeted the first person they encountered.
The man looked at them suspiciously for a long moment until John became his old charming self. Joanna nearly gasped aloud at the change in him.
He was the best actor she’d ever seen, she thought. Had he always been devious? Had they all misjudged him these past years? Or had something within him just snapped? How could he have fooled both Gillian and herself so easily?
“Would you have a room where we could stay for the night?” John asked the man who called himself Bernard Coker.
“Aye, there’d be a room somewhere in the settlement,” Bernard replied. “Mrs. Brenner might have one.”
One room, Joanna thought, disappointed. She would be forced to share a room with John.
“Thank you,” John said pleasantly. “We’d be obliged.” Mrs. Brenner’s place turned out to be a nice log cabin with three bedrooms, only one of which she used. John and Joanna were given another one. For a moment, Joanna wondered what excuse she could give to occupy the third room, but then she remembered John’s threat and kept silent.
The room had one large bed, a washstand with ewer and basin, and a chest of drawers with a mirror. Near the window was a high-backed chair upholstered with brocade. The same brocade fabric curtained the window. Joanna stared at the bed, and fought the urge to flee.
“There be fresh linens on the mattress,” Mrs. Brenner was saying. “The drawers are empty if you need them.” She took a hard look at the two of them. “Then mayhap you won’t.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brenner,” John said with a winning smile.
The woman beamed, and Joanna cursed her own first foolish impression of him. The man was a murderer, a liar, and a cheat, and she had trusted him. He’d had everyone, including Roderick Neville, fooled.
Once the woman had left the two of them, Joanna went to the window, and hugged herself with her arms. John came up to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She moved away from him. He narrowed his gaze, but didn’t scold her.
“How many people do you suppose live in the settlement?” she asked.
“What does it matter?” John said with a careless shrug. “You’ll not be speaking to any of them. We’ll be leaving at first light.”
Joanna concealed her burning anger. “I was just curious.”
“I’ll be seeing if there is a general store for supplies to get us the
rest of the way to Philadelphia,” John told her. “Don’t you be leaving this room.”
She gazed at him and gave a reluctant nod.
“I mean what I say, Joanna. I’ll find and kill you. No second chances. And I’ll kill anyone who helps you escape me.”
Joanna sighed. “I just agreed to stay, didn’t I? I’ll not have another’s bloodstain on my soul.” Although she secretly thought he was the one responsible for murdering her friend, she couldn’t help feeling guilty over Gillian’s death. It was her escape that had aroused John’s anger enough to kill.
“Lock the bedchamber door when you leave,” he ordered. “I’ll not have that busybody Mrs. Brenner coming in and asking questions.”
“I’ll lock the door if you promise me one thing,” she dared.
He raised an eyebrow. “Bold ’tis that you’re being for someone who is at my mercy.”
“Are you unwilling to listen to what I have to say?”
His blue eyes lit up with curiosity. “Go on then and say it. What is it that’s on your mind?”
“If I promise to stay in the room and avoid other people, except when you are with me, will you vow to sleep somewhere else?”
“No, I’ll promise no such thing,”
She began to feel desperate. “Will you, at least, allow me to sleep in that chair, or on the floor? I won’t sleep in the same bed as you.”
“Are you saying that you don’t like me?” he taunted. “I’m hurt.”
“John, I’ll not have you shaming me.”
He looked intrigued. “You mean no other has touched you? Not even the Indian?”
She shook her head, hoping he couldn’t see the lie.
“I’ll allow you to sleep either on the floor, or in the chair,” he said. “It makes no matter to me.”
“And you won’t touch me,” she added.
“No. Touch you I will, but lie with you?” He stared at her breasts. “I suppose I could wait for a time.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “But heed me, and heed me well. You will share my bed, now or later. I understand your desire to wait until after we’re wed.”