Whispered Promise

by Colleen French

  "All white men are cowards," Kolheek said.

  Little Joseph shook his head. "No. This white coward hanged himself and left his boy to the enemy. An Iroquois warrior would not kill himself before taking the child's life."

  Kolheek turned his gaze back to the fire, the taste of revenge palatable on his tongue. So the husband was dead. That was alright. Leah-Beale seemed uninterested in the man. It was the boy she wanted back. It was the boy she had begged Harrison to bring home to her.

  "Did you get a good price for the boy?" Kolheek asked.

  Little Joseph leaned back against the wall of the rough hewn fort and closed his eyes. "Not good, not bad."

  "Who did you sell him to?"

  Little Joseph opened one eye. "Why do you ask, brother?"

  Kolheek shrugged. "I know a man who looks for a white boy. He will pay for his return."

  Little Joseph closed his eye, folding his hands over his chest. "That boy will never go home. My uncle took him. Two Halves of the Turtle Clan. By now he has sold him to the French, that or slit his throat."

  One of the other Iroquois guards laughed and the other men laughed. Kolheek rose, bored with the men's drunkenness. He walked away into the darkness.

  Two Halves of the Turtle Clan. How hard could such a man be to find? How hard could a white child called Beale be to find among Mohawk? Of course, perhaps what Little Joseph said was true. Perhaps the boy was dead. But perhaps he was not.

  Kolheek stared into the darkness wondering how far Harrison and his white woman were behind him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The silence between them stung Leah. She gripped her horse's rein tighter in her gloved hands. "That was not our agreement, Harrison!"

  "To hell with your civilized agreements!" He swung his fist in fury. "To hell with Edmund Beale and your sacred marriage!"

  She focused on the narrow path ahead. They rode along a ridge high above the Hudson River. Had it not been for the gravity of their mission Leah could have better appreciated the breathtaking beauty of a land she had never seen before. The Hudson River was so wide and deep, the cliffs so starkly magnificent. In every direction she could see nothing but the green of the mountains, the white of the snow, and the blue of the sky. Surely this was a place on earth where God had laid his hand.

  "No." She let go of the reins with one hand. "No, to hell with you, Harrison!" She lowered her voice. "I made love with you because I wanted to! Not because you wanted me to. It was my choice and this is my choice now."

  "Surely you can't think I can go on like this indefinitely. Two weeks ago I held you naked in my arms and now I'm expected to ride at your side like some futtering field hand!"

  His last words echoed off the cliff above their heads and soared down through the river canyon below.

  She twisted around in her saddle to face him. The air was so cold that it made her lungs ache. "I never promised you I would be your paramour! I told you that night that it was a one night offer."

  "Why Leah? Why after we've found each other would you choose this?"

  She faced forward again. "Because I'm Beale's wife." It doesn't matter that you are the father of my son, she thought. It doesn't matter that I never once laid with Edmund. What matters is the document. The witnesses. The son that believes Edmund Beale is his father. "I risk my immortal soul as an adulteress."

  "Adulteress? Tell me who you have committed adultery with? You married me first, Leah." He shook his fist above his head. "You married me before God, before you married him."

  "It was a handfast." She heard her voice tremble. She wanted to reach out and touch him so badly. She wanted him to know that she loved him. She could hear the pain in his voice. She knew he was struggling to understand. "We were too young to know what we were doing—what we were saying."

  "You can lie to yourself, Leah, but you can't lie to me!" He grabbed a handful of the surtout she wore. "Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you can't feel my touch at this moment. Tell me you can't taste my lips on yours."

  She tried to pull away from him but the path was so narrow along the snowy ledge that she feared one of the horses would shy and slip right off the side of the mountain. "Let me go!"

  "Tell me, Leah! Tell me you wouldn't risk your damned soul to make love with me right now! Say it!"

  "It's not me," she groaned. She snatched her coat from his grasp. "Don't you see? What I want isn't important. It's my son! I have a responsibility as his mother to do what's best for him."

  Harrison turned away from her. "And what of us? Don't we have a right to some happiness?" He was quiet for a moment, but then went on. "I understand why you won't go home to the Shawnee with me. But why can't we enjoy what time we have together? Why can't I hold you at our campfire at night? Why can't I love you Leah, knowing that once we find that bastard husband of yours, I will never hold you again?"

  His words seemed so final, so utterly hopeless. Leah pushed back the hood of the wool surtout and shook her full head of red hair. The sharp cold air was a relief from the stifling frustration she felt inside.

  He didn't understand. Of course he didn't. She didn't understand herself. The truth was that it wasn't so much her soul she feared for, or even Edmund's wrath. He loved the boy too much to harm him, no matter what his mother did. No, she was afraid for herself. If she allowed herself this intimacy with Harrison, how would she ever go home to Tanner's Gift without him? How would she live without him once she tasted the freedom of their love again?

  Slowly she lifted her head. She felt so old today, as if she had lived a million years, a thousand lives. "Harrison—"

  But he wasn't looking at her. He was staring straight ahead.

  Sensing danger, Leah followed his line of vision. She saw nothing but the snowy path that led down and then left following the curve of the Hudson River far below.

  Then suddenly without warning, Harrison grasped her arm and shoved her hard. She fell off her horse into the snow.

  "What—"

  "Run, Leah," he hissed.

  "What is it?" She scrambled to her feet, oblivious to the wet snow that clung to her clothing and hair.

  Harrison flew off the opposite side of his horse and released the reins. "Have you your pistol still?"

  "Yes."

  He crouched, his face changing. A moment ago he was Harrison the Colonial, but before her eyes he had become Harrison the savage. Suddenly there was this wild, wide eyed look about him. Suddenly he was a dangerous man, a man who frightened even Leah.

  His flintlock musket in one hand, he slipped the other hand inside his coat and pulled out his hunting knife rescued off the beach on the Chesapeake Bay. "Go into the woods," he ordered. "Quickly. Run, hide, Leah. I'll find you."

  "Harrison, what is it? Why—"

  He whipped around. "Go!"

  This time she didn't argue. She turned and ran. She dove beneath a pine bough laden in snow and scrambled to move deeper into the forest. But even with the dead of winter setting in and much of the foliage died out, it was hard to run. The snow was deep in places where it drifted against the tree trunks and the briars, even dry, tore at her clothes and hair.

  Leah lost sight of Harrison and the horses. She could feel her heart pumping and hear the blood rushing through her veins. What in God's name was she running from? But the tone in Harrison's voice made her keep running.

  Behind her she heard an unearthly howl. Her first thought was of Harrison and his safety.

  Indians, it had to be renegade Indians!

  She wanted to turn back, but she knew she couldn't. She rounded a tree, scraping her hand through the woolen gloves. There was no way to hide in the snow, leaving her tracks behind her the way she was. All she could do was run and pray Harrison was all right.

  She heard another war cry and then a third. She could have sworn one of the voices was Harrison's. She didn't know how far away she was from them, but the snow was getting deeper. Her skirts were dragging her down.

  She tripped
and fell and then was slow to rise. Her feet hurt from wearing shoes that were too small. Wasn't it just her luck to come upon a farmer's wife with dainty feet?

  She pulled herself up by a bare tree limb and headed west again. She could hear thrashing in the forest now. She could hear voices.

  A flintlock sounded and even at this distance she could smell the stench of the black powder on the icy wind.

  Leah grabbed a branchless sapling and hung on to it, panting. She was petrified, but not so much for herself as for Harrison. And for her son. If something happened to her here. If she died, who would rescue William? If Edmund hadn't gotten him to safety by now, she guessed he wasn't going to be able to.

  Leah heard a branch snap behind her and she turned. She'd heard no one approach but it was close, very close. She peered into the forest. She could see nothing unfamiliar, but everything blended together in the snow until she saw nothing but a blur of white.

  "Harrison?" she called softly.

  She could hear her own breathing and the whistle of the wind. Her breath made a frosty billow of white in the air.

  "Harrison?"

  Then she saw it . . .

  A hideously painted face, staring at her from a tangle of fallen trees and snow piled high in drifts.

  She gave a stifled scream.

  The man leaped through the air.

  Leah turned and ran, the sound of her own shrill voice echoing in her head. She ran as hard as she could, ducking under limbs, climbing over fallen logs. Her surtout caught on something and she slipped out of it, leaving it behind on the snowy ground.

  She could hear the savage behind her, running her down like a game animal. What did he want?

  Dear God, where was Harrison?

  Leah's lungs were burning. Sweat ran down her temples despite the sub-zero temperatures.

  He was gaining on her.

  All she could think of was William. She wondered if Harrison would find him on his own, if this savage killed her. She wished to God she had told Harrison the child was his. She hated the thought of dying and Harrison never knowing the truth.

  The savage was so close now that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. He caught a hank of her hair and she screamed, jerking from his grasp, oblivious to the pain as he ripped hair from her head.

  "No!" she cried. "Noooo!"

  She leaped over a tree stump and rounded a holly bush covered in red berries. She pulled back a branch as she scrambled to get away. At just the right moment she let the branch go and it sprang back striking the savage in the face with the thorny leaves.

  He howled with anger.

  Leah rounded another tree and lifted her skirts, breaking into a dead run. At any moment she expected to feel the sharp bite of a cold stone hatchet between her shoulder blades. But she kept running.

  Tired, she ran without any sense of direction. She could hear the redman's moccasined feet pounding in the snow. She could smell the stench of the uncured hides he wore on his back. She couldn't tell how close he was now, but she couldn't take the time to dare a glance over her shoulder.

  Then, without warning he was suddenly on the path in front of her. She tried to stop, to turn around, but she nearly collided with his stinking body. She gave a muffled scream as he knocked her to the ground and leaped on top of her.

  She clawed at his repulsive black and white face. Beads of sweat ran down the side of his face streaking the oily stinking paint . . .

  He laughed, breathing his putrid breath on her face. He smelled of whiskey, sour sweat, and rotting meat.

  She opened her eyes, wanting to see the man who would kill her, wanting him to know whose life he took. "Son of a stinking bitch!" she hollered, biting down on the soft flesh of his neck, the only place she could reach.

  The savage grunted with pain, rewarding her with a hard smack across the temple.

  He pressed his body over hers, showing her the glimmering metal of a knife. His lips broke into a gaping, twisted grin.

  Then suddenly Leah realized what he wanted.

  He was going to rape her.

  For a split second she wondered if it would be worth it. If he raped her would he let her go? Surely William's life was worth the sacrifice. Other women had been raped and learned to live with the shame. But as she stared into the savage's eyes circled with black and white paint, she saw no human being staring back. This man was an animal.

  Instinctively, she knew he would kill her once he had his way.

  So what now? She was quickly tiring from the struggle. He was no bigger than she, but muscular, and stout. And he had the knife . . .

  Her only chance, of course, was the single shot her pistol held. But her pistol was tucked in the back waistband of her petticoat. How could she reach it?

  Nearly at the end of her strength, she forced herself to go limp. She had to conserve her energy if she was going to escape this red demon.

  He grunted at her and grabbed a handful of her wool skirt. She felt the frigid air go up her skirt.

  Instinctively she brought up her knee to kick him.

  He hollered, grabbed another handful of hair, and slammed her head against the ground. It must have struck a branch or root or something because Leah was suddenly dazed. A moment ago she had been a participant in this horrendous act and now she seemed to be a bystander. She could no longer feel the weight of his filthy body on hers. She couldn't feel the snow beneath her or the bite of the cold wind on her bare thighs. Her head was spinning and she was nauseated. It was almost as if this wasn't really happening to her.

  Another moment and she knew he would penetrate her. Another moment or two and she knew she'd be dead.

  Barely conscious of what she was doing, she felt her hand twist behind her in the snow and grip the handle of her pistol.

  The savage was fumbling to untie the laces of his hide breeches as he grunted with pleasure.

  Leah stared up at the sky above thinking how clear and blue it was today.

  Then she lifted the pistol until the barrel touched his side and then she pulled the trigger.

  The blast knocked his body off her and onto the snowy ground beside her. Leah smelled the sickening scent of burnt flesh and tasted the salt of her own tears on the tip of her tongue. Then she closed her eyes and the world dissolved into nothingness.

  "Leah, Leah!"

  Leah heard the voice . . . Harrison's voice. She smiled to herself. He was safe. Harrison was safe. She wanted to open her eyes, but she was cold, so cold. And her head hurt.

  "Leah!" He shook her.

  She forced herself to open her eyes. He was looking down at her, his dear handsome face lined with worry. She smiled. "Ouch," was all she could manage.

  "Leah, are you all right?"

  Her eyes drifted shut, then she opened them again. "Hit my head, I think. Is . . . is he dead?"

  "Stone dead."

  She could feel him pushing down her skirts. "One shot. Knew I couldn't miss." She felt not an ounce of remorse.

  He caressed her cheek with his hand. She noticed it was blood-stained. "How many did you get?" she asked. She was dizzy and sick to her stomach.

  "Three."

  She gave a little laugh. "Beat me."

  "You're cold, Leah. Where's your cloak, sweet?"

  "Lost. Somewhere in the woods. I ran so fast, it couldn't keep up."

  "Let me see your head. I'm going to lift it."

  "Ouch!" She winced as he raised her head and then lowered it into the snow again.

  "He got you pretty good but the cold of the snow stopped the bleeding." He picked up her hand in his and rubbed it. "Anything else hurt?"

  "He didn't rape me," she said, knowing what he must be thinking. "He tried, but I wouldn't let him, Harrison. That's for you, only you. I wouldn't let him."

  Harrison leaned over pushing her hair off her face. "You're a brave woman, Leah. I'm proud of you."

  "Who . . . who were they?"

  "A war party, just out looking for trouble.
"

  "He would have killed me—" she licked her dry lips—"wouldn't he have?"

  "Yes," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here. I tried, Leah."

  She opened her eyes to look up him. It was then that she saw the blood that stained his coat. He had a gash in his arm, a split lip and a cut across his cheekbone. "I knew the risks when I came. Besides, look, no harm done."

  "Not yet, but I've got to get you warm. The horses are gone and so are our supplies." He sat back on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair. His cocked hat was gone and his hair had come loose from its queue to ripple down his back. "Can you sit up?"

  "Yes." She pushed up off the ground. "I think so." Slowly she rose up. Everything was spinning and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. She dropped her head between her raised knees and felt the back of her head with her hand. Through the thin wool glove she could feel the congealed blood. Her head had hit harder than she'd thought. It hadn't really even hurt then, but it sure as hell hurt now. "I'm all right," she said. "Let me rest a minute or two and then I'll get up."

  Still kneeling in the snow, he wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulder. "It's going to get dark soon. You need a warm fire and clothes."

  "We . . . we're in the middle of nowhere. How—"

  "You let me worry about that. I know a place not far from here, if my bearings are straight." He studied her face carefully. "Can you walk, sweet?"

  She nodded.

  He stood up and helped her stand. The minute she was erect her head swam and she swayed on her feet.

  "Whoa there!" He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him. "Not quite as steady as you thought?"

  Tears burned her eyes. She felt like such a baby. It was over now. Why was she crying? "I'm all right." She sniffed. "Just give me a second."

  But he lifted her in his arms.

  "You can't carry me. I weigh ten stone." But she had already rested her head on his shoulder. He was so warm and she was so cold.

  He kissed her temple, chuckling, obviously relieved that she was going to be all right. "You know I always did like a sturdy woman."