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STREAKS OF ROSE AND GOLDENROD adorned the
morning sky when Raven woke. Everything was peaceful and still, hushed into silence by the breathtaking dawn. Yet, despite the gentle quiet, she sensed that she and Eben were no longer alone. He lay on the ground nearby, asleep and shivering.
Behind him in a semi-circle were six Indians, silently observing the campsite. Remembering what he had said, Raven grabbed for the rifle behind her and came away with empty air.
She’d ignored Eben’s advice, and she suspected the warrior who’d claimed it would be unwilling to give it back. He was greatly pleased with his prize, and brandished it proudly before his companions, saying something in a dialect Raven didn’t understand. She wished that Eben were awake and lucid so that he could tell her what to do. But then, had Eben been in control of this situation, this never would have happened. She didn’t like to think about his reaction to the news she’d not only lost his horse, and the gold, but also his rifle.
Unsure what else to do, she held out her hands and spoke first in rapid Delaware, then in French, hoping one of the languages would be understood. “The rifle is mine, and I would like to have it back now. Without it, my husband and I will go hungry.”
“What do you do with this white-eyes buck, little doe?” It was not the man with the rifle who addressed her, but a muscular man on a speckled pony. He spoke to her in French and seemed friendly.
“He may be a white-eyes, but he is also a great hunter, and my lawful husband,” Raven lied.
“Which law, little doe?” the man on the pony asked. “The white-eyes law, or the law of The People?”
“God’s law. We were joined together by a Jesuit priest.” “Then, you really are his wife,” the rider said.
“Or perhaps his widow,” said the one with Eben’s rifle.
He sighted down that lethal barrel at the frontiersman who lay insensible on the ground, and Raven launched herself at him, knocking the gun aside. He pulled back his hand and cuffed her hard for daring to challenge him. “He is my husband! To harm him, you must first kill me!”
He fingered the hilt of his knife, as if considering it, then the man on the pony dismounted and intervened. He made a sign to the one with the rifle, and with a last baleful glare, he turned his back to her. “I am Caubenee, and the angry one is known as Bear-Who-Swims. Be careful what you do, where he is concerned. He might not balk at killing a woman.”
The others of Caubenee’s contingent dismounted, milling around the campsite. A pair exclaimed over Cadence, speculating over her worth. Raven demanded that they leave the mare alone, but they ignored her. Alarmed, she turned to Chaubenee, who seemed to be in charge. “Please leave the mare with us. She is all the chance I have to get us out of here. Without her, my husband will die.”
An ugly little man with a greasy headscarf pulled low to cover one eye snorted with malice. “If the man is to die anyway, then we should hasten his departure. One less white- eyes to kill on the morrow, and this yellow hair will look good fastened to my lodge pole.”
“Touch him, and I swear that I will kill you!” Raven promised.
“He chuckled and his dark eye glittered. “Your little doe has fangs, Chaubenee. But Tenskwatawa is not afraid of a mere woman.” Nevertheless, he moved away.
Recognizing the name Tenskwatawa from news that trickled into the trading post over the past few years, Raven knew exactly whom she was dealing with, and that knowledge sent a chill up her spine. She couldn’t afford to show fear, however, so she brazened it out. “So, this is the great Prophet of the Shawnees. Have you sunk so low as to murder those unable to defend themselves? If so, then The People must be desperate for leadership.”
“Unable, or unwilling?” the Prophet sneered. He walked over to Eben’s prostrate form and stood glaring down at him with one malevolent eye. “I think your man is a coward. Like the opossum, he pretends to sleep because he fears being hurt by those who are superior to him.” He lifted his foot to bring it down on Eben’s injured arm, but Raven was faster.
She grabbed the knife from the sheath at Eben’s belt, and held Tenskwatawa at bay with it. “I said that I would kill you, little man, and unlike some, my words are not empty ones.”
There was a stir among the men and for an instant, Raven glanced away. In that instant, Tenskwatawa kicked her feet from under her.
Raven landed hard, but before she could scramble up, he stepped on the wrist of the hand that held the knife. “Witch!” he accused. “This woman is a witch! Stay back, lest she infect you all with her evil!”
The brave who had claimed the rifle now leveled it at her, drawing a bead on her breast bone. Raven held her breath, but she would not cry out, or cower. Any moment, she would feel the bullet slam into her, and then nothing more.
“Hold!” The cry rang out like thunder through the clearing, startling Raven and bringing looks of unease to some of those caught up in the shameful badgering of an innocent girl. The man who’d stayed Raven’s execution was tall and uncommonly handsome. Dressed in the same simple garb that Eben preferred—a buckskin hunting shirt and leggings, with only a breechclout to cover his loins, and moccasins to protect his feet. His arresting face was totally devoid of paint, but still fearsome in his wrath. “Have you nothing better to do?” he demanded. He went to snatch the rifle from the one who held it. “We are not on the path of war, and this woman’s possessions are not plunder!” He held the rifle out to Raven, who accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Your bravery in the face of devastating odds is to be commended. You bring honor to your husband’s house.” And now, he looked at the others. “Perhaps I can recruit you to our
ranks. I think this one small woman might serve me better than all of you.’
“I would never follow that man,” Raven said of Tenskwatawa, who seemed to get even smaller now that his brother Tecumseh had appeared.
“He is not in command here—though I don’t doubt for a moment that he would like to be.” This remark was uttered less harshly, and it drew laughter from his men. “What is wrong with your husband, little sister?”
“He cut his arm, and it has made him ill. Whatever poisons were in the wound must have entered his blood. Do you know what I can do for him?”
Tecumseh shook his head. “The one among us who is a shaman is the one you do not trust.”
Raven glanced at the Prophet, who looked smug. His eye glittered evilly. “I would not put my husband’s life in his hands.”
“There is a family not far from here, who might be able to help you. I was going there, and if you like we can provide you with an escort.”
“I would like that very much.” Eben had warned her of the dangers she might face alone in the forest. Luckily, Tecumseh had come along—an honorable man. But the next encounter might not end so fortunately, for her, or for Eben.
THE DAY WAS A FAIR ONE, AND the door to the house stood open to admit the fresh air and sunshine. Sixteen-year- old Rebecca Galloway stood in the dooryard, craning her neck for the smallest sign of anything that would alleviate her boredom. James Galloway saw her rise on her toes, and knew she’d seen something out of the ordinary. “Becky, what is it?
Is someone coming?”
“It’s Tecumseh, Pa, and someone’s with him.”
“Indeed, I can see that.” James had come to stand in the open doorway. The long column of more than a score of Indians certainly constituted “someone.”
“Not them,” Rebecca said. “Look there, alongside Tecumseh. There’s a man on a sorrel horse. Why, he looks like your friend—the one who came to visit when I was little. And he looks ill—Mother! Mother, come quick!”
Elizabeth Galloway came from upstairs, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She was a tall woman, a little bent now from the hard work of looking after a growing family.
Elizabeth’s beauty was fading, from too many babies and too little care. Her hair, once as shiny and golden as Rebecca’s was now the consistency of straw, and her blue eyes looked weary. She went to the door, wiping her hands on the plain cotton of her apron. “Honestly, James! Go and make them welcome!”
The usual warriors were among Tecumseh’s traveling retinue. Chaubenee, his good-natured friend, Shabbona, his right-hand man and the great-nephew of Pontiac, the Ottawa chief, as well as the man she knew only as Four-Legs, were there. Some of the others, Elizabeth knew by face, but not by name. She stood silently, watching as James gave his hand in greeting and welcomed them all.
“We have brought you a gift, James Galloway,” Tecumseh joked. “We found him in the woods near the quarry. Squa-thi neeshematha is his woman.”
Elizabeth grasped her husband’s arm. “James!”
“It’s all right, Mother.” He broke away and spoke to the chief. “I know this man. Can you help me to get him inside?”
Tecumseh nodded to Chaubenee, who dragged Eben from his mount, and with James’s help, half-carried him to the house. The rough treatment wrung a startled curse from the injured man that caused Elizabeth’s ears to burn. She hung back just long enough to offer a welcoming smile and a few words of encouragement to the girl, then hurried back up the flagstone walk.
Raven looked up at the tall Shawnee, but kept her silence. It was customary to allow him to speak first, and she would honor that tradition. “Take care that your husband keeps his
arm, Little Sister. He will need it, if he is to fight for his people.”
“I will, and thank you.”
He called a farewell to the Galloways, and headed off to the west. When he was out of sight, Raven returned to the house and Eben.
“WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?” ELIZABETH questioned.
She was about to cleanse the wound, but paused long enough to glance at the buckskin-clad girl hovering near the bed.
“Three days ago.”
Elizabeth took off the makeshift poultice, and sat back to examine Eben’s wound. “Dear God,” she murmured, taking in the long gash and inflamed flesh. “How on earth did this happen, child?”
Under the woman’s close scrutiny, Raven averted her eyes. “I tried to tell him to take more care with his knife, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
Elizabeth Galloway shook her head. “Well, now that I think on it, I can’t say I am surprised. Men are such bumbling fools when it comes to their own health, that I’m frankly surprised this one’s still breathing. He always struck me as too stubborn for his own good.” She wrung a rag out over a basin before continuing. “The chief says you’re Eben’s wife, but I would guess that bride is a more accurate word, given your shyness.”
Blushing, Raven looked down at her hands. “We are just newly joined.” It was a dreadful lie, and she did not like the telling, especially to this kindly woman.
“Well, you’ve certainly got your work cut out for you,” Elizabeth observed. “Your man is going to need a lot of love and tenderness to see him through this crisis.”
“Then, he’s in deep trouble,” Raven said.
The older woman sent her a frowning glance. “What did you say?”
“I said that I know he’s in trouble,” Raven amended.
Elizabeth’s face cleared, and she smiled reassuringly at Raven. “For now, but we’ll see him through this, and with a little help from God, he’ll be just fine.” She took up the basin, and stood. “Stay with him in case he wakens and doesn’t know where he is. I’ll be back shortly.”
Elizabeth left the room, and Raven stepped closer to the bed. Eben lay quietly enough, but his arm was so swollen, the flesh around the gash an angry, deep red. What would happen if it grew black and putrid? How could she bear to see him lose his arm and know that she had caused it?
She sat down on the bed beside him, taking his good hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “You must get well, Eben,” she said. “I will not permit you to do otherwise.”
“Meg?” he mumbled. His fever-bright eyes opened and he looked at Raven for a few seconds before recognition dawned on his face. “Oh, ‘tis you, lass. I thought I was home, in McAllister’s Ford.”
“No, not home, but you’ve been here before. You know the Galloways, Elizabeth and James?”
“Christ, I’m tired.” His pale gaze took in every inch of her.
He was tired. Tired of fighting his feelings for her. All he wanted to do was hold her. To pull her close, and keep her there. To love her.
Slowly, just as dripping water insinuates itself into impenetrable stone, this capricious young woman was making her way into his life. And all of the thorny protection he’d built up over the years to prevent such a thing from ever occurring again was useless against her voluptuous charms.
Even worse, he didn’t understand why. She was young and pretty, it was true, but there had been others just as young and pretty in his life, and if memory served him correctly, sweeter- natured than Raven.
Yet, none had stirred his passions to the unbearable depths that she did, nor kept him teetering on the brink of violence as she seemed to do.
He wanted her badly.
He wanted her gone.
Yet, the idea of not having her in his days and nights caused a hollow feeling deep inside that he could only attribute to whatever it was that ailed him.
It was all very confusing, and trying to sort through his tangled thoughts made his headache all the more intolerable.
If he ever felt strong enough, he would attempt to sort it all out. To make some sense of it.
“It’s a good thing that you’re awake, Mr. St. Claire,” a voice said from the doorway. He recognized the woman, but couldn’t put a name to the face. Raven had said something about being home, hadn’t she? But it wasn’t home. In fact, he was not sure where this was. The unknown-but somewhat recognized woman handed a bowl and spoon to Raven. “Your bride will help you with it.”
“My what?”
“Raven. Your bride, Mr. St. Claire. My, you are delirious to have forgotten her so soon. But we’ll soon take care of that.
No one has died in that bed, sir, and I will not take it kindly should you decide to be the first.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint you, ma’am,” Eben said, offering her a weak smile.
She pinned Raven with her no-nonsense stare. “My dear, make sure he finishes that broth. He’ll need his strength if he’s going to fight this.”
