Whispered Promise

by Colleen French

  But there was a bitter draught of truth in Sky Light's words. "Who seeks him?" he asked curtly.

  "His mother."

  Asare could feel his heart wrenching. Aeana still cried for his mother in his sleep. "His mother has come through the mountains for him?" Asare scoffed.

  "No. She has sent a Shawnee warrior. A half-breed. He calls himself Har-ri-son."

  Asare looked at William again. He was jiggling on his fishing line too hard to catch a fish, but that was all right. He was enjoying himself. "I will see this Har-ri-son. But that does not mean I will give up the boy," Asare answered stubbornly. "I bought him and he is my slave. I paid too high a price to let him go so easily."

  Sky Light gave a nod of his head, but said nothing, seeming to know after all these years of friendship when to push Asare and when not to.

  "Stay and fish," Asare told William. "I have business in the village with my crazy friend here. I will be back with warm honey water shortly."

  William nodded, too busy with the thought of fishing to pay Asare much mind.

  Asare turned back, adding gruffly, "And stay off the ice. This man will not save you if you break through and are swept away by the river."

  Then, with a heavy heart he made his way down the path back to the village. He told Sky Light to send this Shawnee called Har-ri-son to his lodge. He would receive the man there.

  Back in his longhouse Asare removed his cloak and mittens and took a seat by his fire. He had his wife Running Rabbit make him an herbal tea.

  The moment he laid eyes on the man called Harrison, he did not like him. The man did not look like a half-breed to him. He looked like a man looking for trouble.

  Kolheek entered Asare's living space and gave a cordial nod. Asare pretended not to see him, too busy with blowing on his hot tea, but he studied him closely from beneath his lashes.

  The Shawnee was dressed in leathers. He wore no weapon but a hunting knife on his belt which Asare found suspicious. No man would travel so deep into enemy territory without weapons, not unless he was a fool. The second strike against the Shawnee's character was his hair cut back in the fashion of the Mohawk. What kind of warrior would wear the hair of his enemy? The third strike against him was his eyes. Asare did not like the gleam in his black Shawnee eyes.

  "I search for a white male child. His mother calls him William-Beale," said the intruder.

  Asare took a slurp of tea wondering what kind of mother would send such a man for her child. Couldn't she see he was a man not to be trusted? Couldn't she see the aura of gray light behind his head?

  Asare gave a hurumph, taking his time in responding. "I have no white boy. What would a Mohawk want with a worthless white boy?"

  "I spoke to the Mohawk called Two Halves. He said he sold the child to you and you brought him back to the village."

  Asare looked up at the Shawnee. "Two Halves should learn to keep his mouth shut. What did you pay him for the information. Whiskey or guns?"

  "Then you have the child?"

  "I bought him," Asare conceded. "He is a slave to me," he lied. "I will not give him up."

  "Look old man—"

  Asare's head snapped up, his dark eyes boring into the Shawnee's in challenge. The Shawnee halted in mid-sentence. When he spoke again, it was with a civil tongue.

  "The boy's mother is frantic for him . . . He was kidnapped with the father, but the father died."

  "How do I know you do not lie, Shawnee?"

  "The boy's name is William-Beale. His mother is called Leah-Beale. He comes from a place called the Tanner's Gift on the great Chesapeake Bay."

  What the Shawnee said was true. Aeana had told Asare the same things. But still, Asare felt a hesitation in his heart.

  "I will think on your words."

  "There is not time. I must take the boy and travel south tonight. His mother waits for him."

  "No." Asare shook his head emphatically. He knew a child belonged with his mother, not strangers. Reason told him he had to let the child go. But somehow an air of doubt still clouded his thoughts. He took another slurp of tea. "No, the boy must—"

  Before he could finish his thought William came bursting through the lodge doorway. "Asare! I caught the fish!" he cried in awkward Mohawk. "This boy caught the fish!" At the sight of the stranger standing at Asare's fire, William came to a halt, staring at the tall Shawnee.

  Asare gave a nod. "That is good that you caught the fish, but I told you to stay by the river."

  "I was cold." William kept glancing sideways at the stranger. "And I wanted you to see my fish."

  "William," Kolheek said.

  The boy's mouth dropped open. "You know me?" he asked in English.

  Asare wanted to stop the child from speaking to the Shawnee, but he knew he couldn't, just as he knew he couldn't keep him from his mother. Sky Light was right. No matter how much he loved the boy, he could not expect the villagers to fight for him. With the dozen young warriors this Harrison had brought with him, surely Mohawk would die.

  "Your mother sent me to get you," Kolheek said.

  "My mother!" William leaped in the air, but as his moccasins hit the soft leather flooring, his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. "My mother sent a stinking redskin to get me?"

  Kolheek gave a strained half smile. "She did. She feared no white man could make it. She waits down on the Hudson for you. We can start south tonight."

  "Tonight!" William gave a squeal of delight, for-getting his suspicions. "Tonight! We can go to Mama tonight?"

  "No!" Asare stated flatly. "Not tonight."

  The boy's face fell with disappointment, then grew hard with anger. "You can't do that!" he shouted at Asare. "You can't keep me here! My mama sent him to get me." He flung himself at Asare, beating him with angry fists.

  Asare grabbed William by the shoulders and shook him so hard that his teeth rattled. "Aeana," he barked in his native tongue. "That is enough!"

  The boy collapsed on the floor in tears.

  Asare looked up at the Shawnee, speaking sharply. "It is too late to start out. Tonight we celebrate the wedding of my nephew. You and your men will be our guests. Tomorrow will be soon enough to take the boy home to his mother."

  The half breed hesitated. Asare could see the anger flare in his black eyes. He saw his fists tighten beneath the fringes of his sleeves. But the Shawnee nodded in consent and walked out of the lodge leaving Asare with his doubts and the crying boy.

  Once the bodies at the cabin were decently covered, Harrison and Leah pressed on. They climbed up into the mountains, following a well traveled path. Once they left the cabin, it seemed to Leah that Harrison set a pace even more grueling than in the previous days. He seemed to her to be driven by some unknown force. When Leah questioned him as to how he was so certain they traveled in the right direction, he wouldn't answer. But there was no hesitation as he changed directions, weaving his way through the mountains. It seemed to Leah as if he knew by instinct which way to go.

  She wondered if he somehow sensed William was his. But she didn't ask. She knew eventually she would have to deal with the truth. They would both have to deal with the truth, but not yet. First they had to find him alive.

  As the sun began to set two full days after they had passed the burned out cabin, Leah inquired as to when they would stop for the night. She was tired beyond reason and her toes had lost all feeling hours ago.

  Harrison shook his head, as if preoccupied. More than once today he had stopped along the trail to study a piece of charred firewood or a bit of rubbish left behind by the Indians who traveled these mountains. "We push on," Harrison said quietly.

  Leah ran to catch up. "You mean we're almost there? You think we've found the village?"

  He hesitated before answering. "I think we will come upon the sentry soon. Just pray we can keep our scalps long enough to get into the village."

  The tone of Harrison's voice made the hair on the back of Leah's neck bristle. It had never occurred to her until this mome
nt that it would be dangerous for them to go into the camp. But of course she knew the Shawnee and the Mohawk were enemies. If they had taken her son, why would they let her into the village?

  She laid her hand on Harrison's sleeve. "Let me go in," she said quietly. "You stay here and wait for me. They'll not harm me. I'm just a woman and no threat to them."

  Harrison laughed deep in his throat, but he was not amused. "These men take slaves, sweet. They trade in human flesh. What makes you think they wouldn't want a pretty redheaded captive to add to their collection?"

  Leah stopped walking. Her hand on his sleeve, she forced him to look at her. Their gazes met. "You've come this far, Harrison. You've done more than I could have ever asked of you."

  "I told you I would help you find your son, dead or alive." He spoke with that same lilt in his voice that she had heard that first day in the Shawnee village. "We have not yet found him."

  She clutched his arm. "Don't you hear what I'm saying? I release you from our agreement. I won't have you lose your life, or be injured for the stupidity of my husband."

  "I said I would find the boy." His black eyes seemed to pierce the depths of her soul. "Leah, we must hurry."

  There was something about the urgency in Harrison's voice that sent off warning signals in her head. He knew something he wasn't telling her. She knew it. "Harrison—"

  He walked away. "Hurry, Leah!"

  For a moment she stood there on the trail, watching him disappear into a gully. She wanted to shout at him. She wanted to demand that he tell her whatever it was that he was keeping from her. But' for once she knew she had to trust him. "I'm coming," she hollered. "Harrison, wait!"

  Not a half an hour later as darkness descended upon them, Harrison suddenly dropped into a crouch, his hand on his knife. Leah immediately threw herself to the ground, oblivious to the cold snow. She pulled her loaded pistol out of the waistband of her women's leggings and waited, barely breathing.

  For a long moment she heard nothing but the hoot of an owl and the flutter of its massive wings as it took flight. Then she heard the almost undetectable sound of footsteps in the snow.

  An Indian appeared before them out of nowhere, shouting gutturally. Harrison make several hand-signals, speaking slowly in English. "We mean no harm. We bring peace." He was still crouched in a submissive posture, but his hand was still on his knife.

  The Indian glanced curiously over Harrison's shoulder at Leah.

  "Ask if he's seen my son," she shouted to Harrison.

  "Leah!"

  "Ask him!" she demanded again. "Ask him, damn you!"

  Harrison looked back at the plump Mohawk. "My companion asks—"

  The Mohawk began to laugh. "The raxaa is a chief, no?" he said in heavily accented English. "A boy so many seek."

  Harrison slowly rose, his hands at his sides. "You know the child?"

  Sky Feather grinned, opening a palm. "A price, man who wears the moccasin of Delaware but speaks like a Shawnee. Words cost a price. This is the land of the Mohawk you stand upon. For everything there is a price."

  Harrison opened his palms. "We were robbed on the trail. We have nothing—"

  "Wait!" Leah pushed herself up off the ground, stumbling toward the two men. She pulled an emerald earbob from her ear. It had been her great grandmother's, but she didn't care. This Indian was her last chance at finding William alive, she could feel it in her bones. "This. You can have this." She held out the earring, letting the light of the rising moon shimmer off the clear green stone.

  Sky Feather reached for the bauble like a greedy child.

  Leah pulled it just out of reach. "The white boy. I'm his mother. His name is William and he was brought north by a Mohawk called Two Halves. Do you know where the boy is?"

  Sky Feather snatched the earring from her hand. "Two Halves is rakeniha to me—my fa-ther." He grinned with delight as he slipped the teardrop through a hole in his earlobe.

  "My son is alive then?"

  "Ea." He leaned on his spear, shaking his head to make the emerald earring swing in his ear. "Yess. Alive in the teyetasta of the old fool, Asare."

  Leah's knees felt so weak, for a moment she thought they would buckle. Harrison must have seen her sway, because he caught her arm, steadying her.

  "Ea, he is alive," Sky Feather went on. "The Shawnee you sent for him is in the village now."

  Leah turned to Harrison in confusion. She could feel her heart sinking. Something was wrong. She could tell by the hardened look on Harrison face. "What is he talking about?" she heard herself say. "I sent no one. It can't be the soldiers. They gave up on him and Edmund. Harrison, what man has my William?"

  Harrison tightened his grip on her shoulder until she winced with pain.

  "Kolheek," Harrison answered, his voice echoing in her head. "Kolheek has your child."

  Chapter Twenty

  Leah thought she would scream. She thought she would faint. That savage had her son. Kolheek, the man who had sworn revenge upon her. The man who hated Harrison.

  Bile rose in her throat. It couldn't be possible. He couldn't really have come so far for the sake of vengeance. But one look at Harrison's face and she knew it was true.

  Leah stiffened her spine. This was no time for her to lose control. This was it. This was her last chance. The Mohawk said William was in the village. He said Kolheek was there. That meant there was still a chance, if only she and Harrison could get there in time.

  "Oh," she heard herself say, her voice barely trembling. "He . . . he made it, did he? Good."

  The Mohawk's eyes narrowed. "He said the mother waited below."

  "Yes, well, I got tired of waiting," she answered haughtily. "So I had this man, Harrison, bring me."

  "Har-ri-son?" The Mohawk questioned suspiciously.

  "Yes. Now if you'll be so kind as to lead us on to the village, I'll see my son and be able to thank the Shawnee for finding him."

  Sky Feather put out his hands to check Harrison for weapons. "No firesticks?"

  "I told you, we were robbed." Harrison stood still as the Mohawk checked beneath his hide cloak, slapping him roughly.

  When the Mohawk put his hands out to Leah, she took a step back, lifting her chin. "Despite how I might appear in these hides, I'm an English woman. Surely you don't think I would carry a weapon, and surely you don't think I would allow you to search my person."

  Leah didn't know if her English confused him or if he was just taken aback by the tone of her voice, but he lowered his hands. "Follow this man to the village. Eayonteanti."

  Leah slipped her hand beneath her cloak to check to be sure her pistol was still secure and then fell in behind the two men.

  As they approached the village she heard the sounds of drums and hollow gourds. The sounds were different than those she had heard in the Shawnee village. This beat was faster and more frenzied. She could hear singing. This was no solemn ceremony. It sounded like some kind of party.

  "How are we going to do this?" Leah whispered to Harrison as they followed the Mohawk. "If Kolheek has William—"

  "If they are still in the village, if he has your son, we'll get him Leah. We'll get William."

  "Harrison—"

  "Just follow my lead, and if there should be any fighting, you run for cover. You understand me?"

  "I'm not leaving without William."

  "Damn it, Leah," he hissed, trying not to let the Mohawk hear him. "I'll get William! I'll bring him to you. But after all he's been through I should think he deserves a mother who's still alive, don't you?"

  Leah opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of it. There was no sense arguing. She would do what she had to do when the time came.

  A moment later they passed through a tunnel of snow-laden trees into the bright orange light of the village campfire.

  A huge fire burned in the center of the camp which was spoked by long tube-like dwellings. A crowd of half-naked Indian men danced around the great fire chanting and clapping. The
ir faces and chests were painted; some wore wooden masks. Drums pounded. Gourd rattles vibrated. Women and children stood at the edges of the circle of light clapping and calling to the dancers.

  The Mohawk led them straight into the camp toward the communal fire. Just outside the bright circle of firelight they stopped in front of a man who sat crosslegged, the half-eaten legbone of a deer in his lap. The other Indians were so busy singing and dancing that either they didn't notice the strangers or didn't care.

  This man has to be the father, Leah thought. Two Halves, the man who bought my son. It was all she could do to keep from pulling the pistol from inside her cloak and shooting the Mohawk between his beady black eyes.

  Sky Feather spoke in his native tongue to his father. The older man responded. The two talked back and forth for a moment. Sky Feather's voice became agitated. Finally the older man cut his son off in mid-sentence by slicing the air with his hand. Sky Feather stalked off angrily.

  Two Halves looked up, wiping his greasy lips across the sleeve of the broadcloth French-cut coat he wore. "Had this man known so many would want the boy, I would have sold him to Asare for more," he said in the same heavily accented English his son spoke in.

  "I have come for my son," Leah stated forcefully.

  "And this man?"

  Leah looked at Harrison. "He escorted me." Just as she spoke she spotted a familiar face across the great expanse of the campfire. She felt her heart skip a beat. His face was thinner, his skin more suntanned, but it was William. Dear God! It was William. She prayed he wouldn't see her as she turned her attention back to the man called Two Halves who was speaking to her.

  "And this Delaware-Shawnee is called?"

  "Harrison," Harrison answered. "I am a half-breed."

  Leah kept one eye on William, who sat in an older Indian's lap clapping his hands to the beat of the drums, as she followed the conversation between Two Halves and Harrison.

  "This is odd," Two Halves said, making a motion for one of the women nearby to relieve him of the weight of the venison legbone on his lap.