by Andrea Jones
The woman shot an inquiring look to White Bear. He gave a nod, and she knelt beside the commodore. Then, delicately, as if she was afraid to handle it, she gathered up his dripping curls, pulling them free to hang outside the blanket. She squeezed the moisture from the thick mass of his hair, so that the droplets ran down her arms and dampened the sand.
Knowing that to acknowledge these ministrations would indicate weakness, Hook did not thank her. He looked into White Bear’s eyes as she worked, then he reached to the back of his neck and placed his hand over the woman’s, trapping her fingers for the breadth of a moment. Her breath caught, White Bear’s eyes narrowed, and Hook released her. She stood, her slender shadow falling over him, and at a glance from White Bear, she hurried to a position out of Hook’s sight, ready to return if White Bear called.
Having asserted some power in his helplessness, Hook straightened his back and waited for parley to begin. He noted that White Bear wore one marriage bracelet. This woman he dominated wore none. She may be some relation, but she was not his wife, nor was she his weakness.
Perhaps because she wasn’t, White Bear had not risen to the bait. He showed no disapproval, but kept his words to the point.
“Black Chief of the sea men. Days ago, your boats carried twice as many warriors to the Island, yet today we take you alone.”
“Today’s visit is unintentional.”
“Last time you came to the People in great numbers, in stealth and with hostility.”
Hook merely acknowledged the statement.
“Now the tide is reversed.”
In no hurry, Hook drawled, “Tide is a changing force.”
“Today, advantage lies in the hands of the People.”
“You will not win the promise of that advantage, without loss.”
“Brave words. But the People find no honor in overpowering a single man.”
“Then your honor is useful to me. But I shan’t be alone for long. Even now, my men march on the warpath.” Hook leaned forward to grasp the arrow. He turned it to point toward the elders, then, with emphasis, set it down.
White Bear’s gravity showed the significance of Hook’s gesture. He lifted an arm to indicate the braves all around them. “You see our warriors. We are ready to fight.”
“I have never doubted it. This is the reason that, the last time I called, I took care to surprise your People.” Hook paused to underscore his words. “Today, no surprise will hinder either side.”
But the Indian, too, probed for his enemy’s weakness. “When we track down your mate and hold her scalp by the golden hair, you may change your opinion.” Assured of his advantage, White Bear sat back.
“I claim no mate.”
White Bear seemed taken aback. “Your white wife, then.”
Hook waved toward White Bear’s wrist. “Your custom upon marriage is to wear a bracelet. Ours, a ring, a simple circle of gold.” He spread his hand and rested it on his knee. “The Black Chief bears no woman’s binding. I wear ornaments only to demonstrate my wealth.”
White Bear’s brows lowered. “We saw her in the water. Your woman.”
“What you saw was a mermaid. I hear that you are wise enough to avoid them, but surely you know one when you see her.”
“When our braves drag her back, a prisoner, we will ‘know’ and ‘see’ the truth.”
“She’ll have slithered to the sea by now. You are welcome to try to catch her; I find it helpful to offer gifts. Precious jewels are especially effective.” Raising his hand, Hook smiled and rotated it to display his several rings to the People. Among the other gems, the recovered rubies burned red in the sunlight. When the women whispered, his smile turned to a smirk. “As I say…most effective.”
White Bear stiffened, and the whispering stopped. “Enough talk of women. Why do you lead more warriors to our shores?”
“I won these new warriors from an enemy. They are pledged, now, to serve me.”
White Bear sat quiet, thinking. A single tap from the scout’s drum caused him to look toward the river. In the distance, the white form of the canoe was returning. As it neared, it was seen to bear the two braves— and no captive female, mermaid or otherwise.
Hook’s chest rose with a lungful of air, but beyond that movement he showed no trace of his encouragement. The magnitude of his relief was as great as before, when he’d snatched Jill from the roiling path of those rocks. Jill had won her freedom. Still uncertain of his own chance of survival, Hook found it didn’t much concern him. His ‘family’ was safe— even if other men must guard it for him.
White Bear stared at the arrow on the ground, where it spoke a threat to the People. After contemplating, he asked, “And for what purpose do your warriors ride two boats into the bay?”
“We come— as we have always come to this island— to improve our vessels and rest from our labors on the sea.”
“You lie about the red-handed woman. Why will I believe what you say about the men?”
“I need no lies. Nor do I need your trust.”
“It is well. You will not receive it.” The People stirred around them, but held silence as White Bear assumed his most formidable posture.
“Black Chief of the Eagle’s Claw. White Bear speaks for the council. We release you today. Do not approach our home again.” White Bear stood. “Tell your warriors. Another venture toward our village will start the war drums pounding.”
Hook stood, too. “Agreed.” He threw off the blanket. “Your warriors will find no welcome in the bay. But…one point I must declare.” Hook seized the arrow. “I have established a House in the Clearing. Those who abide there live under my protection. All who enter the Clearing must enter under truce. Men…” Here Hook turned toward the lovely female who had waited on him, his blue eyes piercing into the deep black eyes of the raven-haired one. He stared until she blushed. “…And women.”
Hook spun to eye the council. He raised the arrow, he raised his claw, and with one vicious slash, he severed the shaft. The feathered end fluttered to the ground. “Any harm to those who dwell in the Clearing will earn my retribution.” He flung the tip of the arrow to his feet and, standing tall before the outrage of the elders, he ground it into the gravel with the heel of his boot.
The drum at the edge of the water burst into warning, and all heads turned toward the scout. Instantly, the warriors readied their bows again. On the river, an armada of longboats approached, their oars rising and falling in quick, precise rhythm, up, down, and under, and flashing in the slanting sun. Each boat held as many sailors as it could carry, all armed with guns, swords, and knives.
At the fore of the leading boat stood the figure of Captain Cecco, one boot on the prow, his golden armbands shining, his weapons glinting. He held a cutlass in one hand and the other rested on the ax at his belt. Within moments, his company was skimming toward the beach. He searched the shore, sizing up the Indian forces and appraising his commodore’s condition. At his signal, his blue-jacketed men beached his boat, and the other vessels closed in around the black flag flying at the stern.
“Commodore Hook,” Cecco called. “We stand ready for you to embark, Sir.”
Hook aimed a dark look sideways at White Bear, a challenge. When the Indian remained motionless, Hook turned to his man. “Aye, Captain Cecco. I join you anon.”
Hook collected the blanket he had thrown aside. Deliberately, he walked toward White Bear’s woman. The braves tensed, crowding closer, but made no move to lay hands upon the mighty chief the council had released. When he stood before her, he rubbed the blanket against his cheek, and then his chin. As he did so, he trained an insinuating smile on her. He watched with interest as her eyes darted between him and Cecco, as if she half expected Hook’s own officer— not White Bear— to intervene. The pregnant woman standing next to her wrapped an arm about her and pulled her close. Hook held out the blanket.
“I am grateful for your hospitality.”
She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She
simply stared with her handsome black eyes. Hook read those eyes, sensing both fear and rebellion. He glanced at the other female, who was big with child, and he determined by their likeness that they were sisters. This younger sister wore a marriage bracelet. As Hook held the blanket toward the first one, the older sister, she shifted her feet as if to back away, then seemed to think better of it. Stoically, she held her position as he draped the blanket over her shoulder. Before releasing it, he squeezed her shoulder, then slid his hand up her neck, to brush her jaw, the touch of a connoisseur, appreciating.
Then Hook bowed to her, his most elegant bow, flourishing the hand that sparkled with jewels. He ignored the flash of pain at his ankle. “Fair lady. May we meet again.”
He turned to make his way to the longboat. Cecco jumped into the water, relinquishing his position to the commodore. His sailors shoved the boat from the shore and they all leapt aboard. The pirates eyed the natives, ready to repulse attack, but no aggression followed. As the distance between them lengthened, each army eased its stance.
“Commodore,” Cecco said above the creak and dip of the oars and the celebratory whoops of the Indians, “I am pleased to find you uninjured.”
“And Jill?”
“She is weary, but well. She waits for us aboard the Roger.” Cecco paused. “Your steward is attending her.” Preferring not to dwell on the thought, he turned to behold a certain someone on the shore.
The direction of Cecco’s gaze was not lost upon his commander. “Very well, Captain. I commend you on your swift and thorough action.”
“Grazie, Commodore. I could do no less, and face my determined wife again.”
“Aye. I am familiar with that dilemma.”
The two rivals stopped short of smiling at the image of Jill that Cecco had evoked, and indulged instead in a rare sense of camaraderie. Unused to amity, they simply stood, considering the phenomenon and evaluating one another. As the strain of the past hour had mounted, so too their opposition seemed to dwindle. Cecco pulled a flask from his pocket and opened it.
Hook stared at the hand that proffered that flask. A simple circle of gold confronted him— and reminded him of the words he’d sworn to the council.
The Black Chief bears no woman’s binding.
Hook accepted the flagon and drank deep, strengthened as the fire of spirits burned its way down his gullet. Propelled by the muscle of their men, the officers’ boat rounded a bend in the river, and the chaos of the Indian drums receded.
When Hook lowered the flask, the camaraderie had dissipated with the danger, for, according to custom, the dusky eyes of the captain challenged the commodore. But, as usual, amity and enmity gave way to protocol. Cecco averted his gaze. Inwardly, both admitted the truth: they were too much alike. Given the opportunity, one day, each of these men would kill to claim all the other man cherished.
And on that day, no surprise would hinder either side.
Invigorated, Hook hoisted the flask for a toast. “To your raven-haired beauty, Captain. As I say, you are to be commended…on your swift and thorough action.”
To Cecco’s startled face, Hook returned a shrewd look. Then, with a laugh rich with victory, Hook tipped up the flask again and drained the potent contents, leaving not a drop for another man to savor.
CHAPTER 10
Escapes and Escapades
The celebrations began before the pirates rowed out of sight, and Lean Wolf looked forward to the revelry. He felt very much alive, and too unsettled to sleep this night. He and Panther listened to a hasty account of the Black Chief’s detainment, and as the two scouts returned to the beach to secure the canoe, the yells of their fellows matched the uproar in Lean Wolf’s spirit.
With little effort, he inverted the canoe next to the others to lie like ribs along the shore, and Panther tucked the paddles beneath it. Lean Wolf stretched his muscles to relieve their tightness.
“Thanks to the Black Chief’s interruption, this long day is turned to an interesting evening.” After his spying this afternoon, and the dissatisfaction that followed, Silent Hunter had welcomed the urgency of the trip downstream to hunt for the pirate woman. He longed to see her, and he dreaded to see her, all at once. Her image burned like summer sun in his mind. And now, after the events in the village, he had an excuse to show his excitement, to move and to dance, to release the pent-up energy that churned within him ever since his eyes had drunk their fill of that red-handed female, bathing in the waterfall.
“You are more restless than usual, Lean Wolf.” Panther was a well-built brave, competent and fair-minded. His nature was easy and confident, only in part because of his mother’s influence among the elders. Through his long braids a lock of white hair reminded everyone of his relation to the Old One. Panther was a jovial comrade, but even he had not been able to cajole Lean Wolf into talking this afternoon. He thought he had an inkling of the cause of his companion’s mood. “The People are saying that you have spoken for Raven. Is this the reason for your impatience?”
Lean Wolf studied Panther’s open, friendly face, but found no disapproval there. “I have spoken for Raven, but speaking is not the cause of my discontent.”
“Ah.” Panther nodded in sympathy. “White Bear has decided to keep her, then?”
“In my opinion, White Bear has decided nothing. He delays to consider his choices.”
“I cannot blame him. It is a heavy responsibility to determine what path is best for a sister, or for a daughter. I have had my own reasons to delay Ayasha’s marriage.” Panther smiled. “But, I think, my dreams have led me at last to a wise decision.”
Lean Wolf raised his eyebrows, and the handsome grin that had found no reason to appear all afternoon emerged at last. “So…you will give her to me?”
Laughing, Panther clasped Lean Wolf’s shoulders and steered him to sit on a fallen tree trunk along the riverbank. The arms of a silver maple spread above the two braves, sheltering them from the late afternoon brightness that speckled the river. “I am sorry, my friend. You are too old for my daughter. Not in age, but in outlook! Remember, I witnessed your younger years. I know you are advanced beyond the imagining of a young girl.”
“So you will marry her to a greenling, like Rowan Life-Giver, whom I suspect to have no experience with women at all! So be it. I have seen how Ayasha moons over him. They can grow up together.”
Panther laughed again. “It is obvious, Lean Wolf. Raven is the fitting bride for you. She was Ash’s wife. She knows how to handle a hot-blooded man. Raven is the answer to your restless spirit’s call.”
Disinclined though he was to sit still, Lean Wolf welcomed a chance to secure an ally in his cause— and one who might sway the old woman on the council. He settled his rangy frame on the log in the cool of the maple’s shade, and conquered his agitation. “Then you favor my suit, if only to protect your daughter. It is enough of a reason. I could wish that White Bear would show such sense.” He picked up a handful of stones and pitched them into the water, making a dry, miniature rain storm.
“White Bear’s judgment is clouded these several moons past, like the river where your pebbles have muddied it. But only where his family is concerned. The People are fortunate that he traveled to us over the water from the Other Island. My grandmother, from whom my mother the Old One suckled wisdom as a nursling, was farsighted to urge the council to accept him, even though he was only a boy and as yet unnamed. Today, without question, he demonstrated his sageness in tribal matters. Not one of the elders could have handled the Black Chief more skillfully.”
“I never said White Bear is not clever. He is a worthy opponent.”
“And a worthy friend. But in recent months he has risen in authority, he has accepted a second woman into his tepee, and, most daunting of all, he will at any moment become a father. This last is the weightiest burden a man can bear. Even your strong arms will tremble at the effort of raising a boy to manhood, Lean Wolf. You must trust me on this matter. I am a father five times. I know
well of what I speak.”
“Excuses. White Bear has been my friend, but his new life sets us apart.”
Panther’s face grew serious, and his resemblance to the Old One more pronounced. “Lean Wolf. It is not only White Bear’s life. Remember that you have led your own, and not always successfully.”
“If you speak of Red Fawn, you speak unfairly. Until I am granted a new wife, I will wear her token.”
“I know in my heart that you love her still. You would welcome her return. Even so, any provider would question a suitor whose first wife chose to leave his tepee…to become an Outcast.” Panther’s voice had dropped low in spite of the noise of the People’s singing, and he glanced around to be sure no one listened. Higher up, on the plateau, the tribe circled the bonfire, making music and abandoning their bodies to the rhythm. “Hear me, Brother. Some have reason to think Red Fawn ran…from your heavy hands. No, I do not believe it, nor did Red Fawn claim it. But the talk of the women says she sometimes bore bruises.”
“And so a husband must accept the blame for his wife’s failure.” Lean Wolf’s bitterness rose again to taint the back of his throat. “And thanks to your words, I see clearly that no father will trust his daughter to me. If I desire companionship, I must wait for White Bear to come to his senses.”
“Now I suspect you of deception. You are moody because you do not want any other woman. Truly, you are in love with Raven. And if this is so, I see all the more reason you should marry her.” Panther rested his hand on Lean Wolf’s forearm. “I feel the beat of your pulse. But I counsel you to be patient, my friend.”
As the drums throbbed faster and louder, Lean Wolf felt his body fill with need. He faced Panther, shaking his head. “You feel the blood surge in my arm. I felt it surge in my spirit today. We held the Black Chief in our power. Like the rest of the People, I craved his killing.”
“You have scoffed at his threat before. Why do you now take it seriously?”