by Fireheart
“I’ll not marry you, John Burton. I’ve already told you.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see.” He went to the door and opened it. “Lock it when I’m gone.”
She nodded and John left. Joanna hurried to turn the key in the lock.
Joanna stared at the key in her hand, and wondered why John hadn’t just locked her in the room. Unless he wants me to try to escape so he can kill me. He was, after all, mad.
The thought gave her gooseflesh as she went back to the window, and stared outside. As she looked, she hoped that someone would see her . . . someone who could help her.
Chapter 30
Fireheart and his band of men met up with Mortimer Grace and the Weatherbys along the trail. Abigail Weatherby shrieked when she saw them.
“Fireheart!” Mortimer Grace called out in greeting. “Mrs. Weatherby, please stop that screaming! This is Fireheart, chief of the Lenape at Little River. He is not the enemy! Stop your caterwauling.”
“Joanna’s Lenape friends?” she said in a high squeaky voice.
Mortimer nodded. “Fireheart, we’ve not seen hide nor hair of Joanna since yesterday. I’m afraid something dreadful has happened to her. We searched the area surrounding our campsite, but there was no sign that she was still around. I know we should have continued the search, but—”
“John Burton has escaped,” Fireheart told him.
“Burton?” the man questioned, then Fireheart realized that Grace had never met the man. “The man followed her here from England. He’s a dangerous murderer with revenge on his mind. He’s after Joanna.”
“Oh, dear Lord!” Abigail wailed.
And for once, both her husband and Mortimer agreed with her.
“What can we do to help?” Mortimer asked.
“We will go to the white man’s fort first to look for Autumn Wind.”
“Autumn Wind?” Richard asked.
“It is what we call the woman you know as Joanna Neville. To us she is like the autumn wind.”
“That’s lovely,” Abigail said, sounding surprised.
Fireheart nodded. “John Burton might be looking for someone to take them to the place where ships come and go.” He waved his men to follow. “Come,” he said to the white people. “We will go ahead if we must. We must go quickly.”
“We’ll be able to keep up,” Richard said with a glance at his wife. “Won’t you, darling?”
Abigail nodded. “I’m fine. I can keep up.” And it was thanks to Joannna—and to the Lenape people—for their powerful medicine that she felt well enough to travel.
“Come,” Fireheart said. “Let us go then.”
John stroked the woman’s breast, then nuzzled his face between both firm, fleshy mounds. “You are an understanding woman, Mistress Goldsboro,” he said as he lifted his head. “My wife—well, I love her, I do, but she is feeling poorly. She’s with child, and, truth be told, she is not one to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed. Not like one such as yourself does.” He bent again to gently bite her nipple.
She moaned and encouraged him to take a nibble of the other breast. “I don’t understand the way of your wife then, Master Bartley,” she said, using the name he’d given her. “You’ve a magic touch, you have.”
“Ah, you’re the magic one, Nan,” he purred before he kissed her. He tongued her mouth, then rose up to gauge her reaction.
He had found the widow at the trading post within the settlement. He’d heard of her widowed state from the shop keeper who happened to mention that the widow was lovely, and willing to any man with a cock between his legs and the stamina to endure her. John had immediately become intrigued. He’d been hot and aching for Joanna since he’d stumbled upon the campsite, and found her sleeping.
Despite his threats, he wasn’t a man to force women. He’d rather seduce them until they were willing. And before he was through with Joanna Neville, she would not only be willing, she’d be begging him to take her hard and fast. At the present time, she was still playing reluctant and so he’d decided to humor her . . . another part of his plan. But this part had left him stiff and throbbing until he’d discovered a way to satisfy his lust . . . and now he was in her cabin lying in bed . . . and Nan was proving to be a pleasurable diversion.
“You’re a sweet young thing,” he said, his eyes glowing, his voice thick with passion.
“Ah, Joseph you say the nicest things.” She slipped her hand down his back to his buttocks and moved them in a way that was entirely new and exciting to him . . . and apparently to her if her labored breath were any indication.
“Do ya like it hard and fast, or soft and easy?” he said as she took hold of his cock, then stroked him tenderly.
“Love, I like it any way you’d like to give it.”
“Dear God,” he gasped as she did something to arouse him to the point of pain.
Near to bursting, he shoved her legs open wide, mounted her, and gave it to her hard and rough, pounding between her thighs, spurred on by her cries of pleasure.
He fell over the edge, spilling his seed into her after he heard her scream out with the ecstasy he’d given her. Stiffening, he felt his surging climax last longer than any he’d ever had before.
Pleased, sated, he lay heavily on top of her, even more pleased when she didn’t object to his weight but seemed to relish it.
“That was a good first try, lover,” she said, startling him to raise himself up to gaze down at her.
There was a gleam of wicked pleasure in her glorious hazel eyes.
“You want more?” he asked gruffly, his manhood already hardening again.
“Let’s do it slow and easy, shall we?” Then she touched him, and he gasped, wondering how he would ever be able to go slow with this woman who had so much experience.
He battled to get himself under control. He knew something of sex. She might have showed him a thing or two, but he had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.
As he reached for that magic spot between Mistress Goldsboro’s legs, John decided that he wouldn’t be returning to Joanna this night.
He smiled as Nan whimpered and shivered as he began to manipulate her. Joanna wouldn’t be escaping, he thought as he slid down her body to find her pleasure point with his tongue. She’d be too frightened to leave. It was safe for him to enjoy the rest of his stay at Fort Dobbs here, in this woman’s bed . . . discovering new ways to pleasure and control her.
He didn’t return to the room, and Joanna was grateful, but worried. Was he playing a game with her? Or had he found someplace to sip ale with the men?
She didn’t sleep but for short dozes. The thought remained that John could be somewhere getting drunk. Drunk, he could return to her, and he’d be more difficult to handle.
At one point during the night, exhausted, she had moved the dresser in front of the door, making up some excuse to Mrs. Brenner who had heard the scrape of wood against wood. Fortunately, the woman didn’t demand that Joanna open the door for she’d have had more explaining to do. Why would she do such a thing as barricade the door to keep her husband from entering? If Mrs. Brenner asked, and she told her the truth, the woman’s life would be in danger.
Joanna believed that John would kill anyone who learned the truth, or tried to help her. The previous murders he’d committed had shown that he was capable.
When the dawn lit up the sky, brightening the room between the open window curtains, Joanna got up from the bed, and went to move the dresser away from the door. If she hadn’t moved the furniture there in the first place, she wouldn’t have been able to doze. She would have stared at the door all night, waiting for the exact moment of John’s appearance.
As she slid the piece of furniture the remaining inches, she thought of the night and had another thought. What if John had found a willing woman?
God, she hoped so. It would help matters greatly for her if John weren’t so overly aroused and staring at her breasts all the time. Wherever John was, Joanna thought,
he’d be back soon. Should she try to leave?
Seconds later, she opened the bedchamber door with the intention of going, but Mrs. Brenner was in the Great Room, preparing breakfast.
“Sit down and eat,” the woman invited. “Where be your husband?”
Joanna feigned tears. “I don’t know,” she said. “He left last evening and didn’t return. Do you think he’s been hurt, or killed?” She hoped he would never come back, but couldn’t say so without arousing the woman’s suspicions.
Mrs. Brenner, who had been eyeing Joanna suspiciously, softened her expression. “Now, now, missy. Don’t ya be worrying. I’m sure the Master found Pete Drummer’s place. The fellows often go there to indulge. He probably got to sipping and playing a bit of cards.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you for telling me,” Joanna said, pretending gratitude while calculating how much time she might have to escape the settlement before John returned. “You’re welcome for certain, Missy,” the woman said.
Joanna stared at her and sighed. She couldn’t leave and allow this friendly woman to brave John’s anger. He’d kill her, and kill her for sure.
John returned while Joanna was eating breakfast. “Good morn’, wife.” He sounded unusually cheerful.
Joanna stared at him. “You were gone all night.”
He seemed pleased. “Jealous?”
Aware that Mrs. Brenner was watching them, she bobbed her head.
“Now, don’t ya be worrying the girl that way again, Mr. Bartley. She cares for ya and deserves better.”
Expecting his anger, Joanna was stunned to see John nod respectfully and agree. She fought the urge to cringe when he touched her cheek, then bent to kiss her lips. He smelled of flowers and something else that wasn’t ale. Fighting the urge to wipe off her lips, Joanna decided that John hadn’t spent the night at Pete’s, but with a woman. And now Joanna was pleased.
Still, she wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
“Joseph,” she said, using his fictitious name. “Can’t we stay another day? I’ve barely had a moment to visit with Mrs. Brenner.”
“No, dearest, we must go,” John said with a warning glance. “You know we’ve a ship to meet.”
“Oh, are some relatives of yours coming in on the Elizabeth Mary?” Mrs. Brenner asked.
“Aye, aye, that they are,” John said.
“Well, then you can stay awhile for the vessel isn’t expected for a fortnight yet.”
Joanna beamed, thinking that John would be forced to concede. Only she’d forgotten how devious he could be.
“I’ve been wanting to buy my wife some new garments. It will take most of that time to find a seamstress in Philadelphia, and for the woman to make them.”
“Then you’d best be moving along,” Mrs. Brenner said, looking sad but resigned to losing her guests and the coin they’d brought with them.
John stood. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Mrs. Brenner,” he said.
The woman nodded. “Godspeed,” she wished.
As Joanna preceded John out the door, she sincerely hoped that God would stay with her.
“What did you think you were doing back there?”
“I wanted to enjoy another night in a bed is all,” Joanna said.
He studied her a long time. “I thought perhaps you’d hoped to find someone to help you.” His smile made her feel cold. “There is no help for you, Joanna. I kept my promise, and left you alone last night. Don’t expect me to continue such generosity.” He touched her neck.
Horrified, she could only gaze at him.
“I’ve not noticed until recently, but you’re an enticing wench,” he said huskily. “I’ll have you, and soon.”
Fireheart, his men, and Mortimer Grace’s party arrived at Fort Dobbs shortly after Joanna and John had left. Fireheart discovered that they’d missed the pair only by hours when Mortimer spoke to a woman named Mrs. Brenner. It seemed that Joanna and her husband Joseph Bartley had rented a room for the night.
“Handsome bloke, dark hair, blue eyes. He wore knee breeches that were a bit worse for the wear.”
Fireheart nodded. “He called himself Joseph Bartley.”
“Yes,” Mortimer said, “but it’s for certain that the woman with him is Miss Neville. The description fits her.”
“I must go find her,” the warrior said with fear in his heart.
“How can I help?”
“You have done enough. You have allowed me to come into the white man’s settlement without fear.”
“Good luck,” Mortimer said.
“Luck?”
The man explained, then said, “Let me ask some of the others here before you go. They may know something that may help you.”
“Wa-neé-shih,” Fireheart said. “But I must leave soon.”
Chapter 31
Joanna was afraid as she and John left the settlement. She’d thought John would hire someone to take them to Philadelphia. When he hadn’t, she’d wondered how he intended to see them there, or if he had plans to go at all.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she negotiated the forest trail. The path was clear and well-traveled. Would it take them directly to Philadelphia, or to some other place?
Her thoughts in a whirl, she fought back the desire to panic. Fireheart, if only you loved me, then I would never have left you.
She couldn’t get Fireheart out of her mind. In the room back at Mrs. Brenner’s cabin, she had thought of Fireheart during those waking hours. When she’d dozed, she’d dreamt of him ... until John’s face had loomed up in her dream, destroying the fantasy, stealing her from the world of sleep.
She felt like a fool. She’d been in this position before, and she’d promised herself that she’d return to the village, and tell Fireheart of her feelings. The sight of him and Moon Dove together had been hurtful, but still she should have stayed. What would he have said if she’d promised to stay to love him?
I’ll never know. She had set herself on a path from which she couldn’t turn back.
What she wouldn’t give to have Fireheart here, watching her with that incredibly intense dark gaze of his. If she closed her eyes, she’d be able to see him clearly. But she couldn’t for she was not in a safe place. Not with John Burton only inches away from her.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts of the brave that it was a second before she realized that John had veered off the path. “We’ll stop here,” he said.
She studied him. His face was a mess. There were bug bites on his nose and forehead, and a stubble of dark whiskers covered his chin and jaw. The cut on his cheek had begun to fester. He didn’t look at all handsome. She wondered what Gillian had ever seen in him until she remembered how she’d also been fooled by his boyish charm back in England when he’d pretended to be her friend.
She stood by stiffly, watching as he gathered wood and pine needles. He was going to build a fire! How long did he plan to stay?
They’d been traveling for just a couple of hours! It seemed too early to rest, and they’d eaten breakfast just before they’d left.
Joanna frowned. She didn’t like the feeling she was getting. Maybe she should run, make her escape now.
“I wouldn’t think about it if I were you,” he said suddenly, again drawing her gaze. He had carried a pack of supplies from the settlement, and his head was bent over the satchel as he rummaged through the contents.
“About what?” she asked innocently.
“Escaping.” He made a sound of satisfaction, apparently having found what he’d been looking for. Then he stood, facing her with a gun in his right hand.
She gasped. Where had he obtained that pistol?
“The trading post had more than just food supplies. Imagine, they carry weapons and ammunition, too. The shopkeeper assures me that this gun is quite suitable for protection on our journey north.”
Her heart thumped hard. “North? I thought we were going to Philadelphia.”
His eyelashes flickered. “We are.�
� He frowned.
“East, I mean.”
She didn’t feel the relief his words should have brought her. He was a madman with a gun, and every moment with him spelled danger. Now she would have to find a way to steal his gun before she could escape.
“Are we making a campfire?” she asked, hoping to sound unconcerned.
“Aye. We’re going to stay here for the night.”
“But we’ve only left a short while ago—”
“Business,” he quipped. “We are meeting someone.”
“Who?”
His eyes dropped to her breasts, and she was sorry she’d asked him. “Jealous?”
A woman? she wondered. Was he meeting the woman with whom he’d spent the night? Good God! Was he planning to bring her on their journey so that he could fornicate with the woman? In her presence?
As she stared at him, she realized with horror that she couldn’t put aside the notion. It would be just like a madman to do such a thing.
She began to feel sick to her stomach. What if he’d have similar thoughts involving her?
Trembling, ill, Joanna slumped to the ground, and John smiled at her before preparing the campfire. He was not efficient with flint and tinder. Finally, he thrust the fire tools at her, and angrily ordered her to finish the job.
Glad to have something to do, Joanna took the flint and tinder box, and went to work until a spark came to life in a blaze of burning pine needles, dried leaves, and sticks.
“Burton didn’t hire a guide,” Mortimer Grace said as he returned to Fireheart. He had asked around, accompanied by Fireheart, finally finding an excellent source of information in the owner of the trading post. A man fitting John Burton’s description, but again calling himself Joseph Bartley, had purchased food supplies, bedding, and a gun. Where he’d acquired the money neither one could say.
The shopkeeper had been reluctant to speak. He had looked at the Lenape warrior, and there had been fear and objection in his brown eyes . . . until Mortimer Grace told the man that the Indian had been hired by Grace to act as guide. Then the man had viewed Fireheart with thinly veiled contempt.