Candace McCarthy (17 page)

He placed his hand on her bodice where her right breast pushed against the fabric of her gown. “Does John Burton make your heart beat faster than the way Fireheart does?”

Joanna reached up to grab his hand, wanting to pull it away, but holding it in place instead. The warmth of his touch burned her, creating a longing within her to undress and invite him to lie with her. She fought her feelings for him.

“I’m going to marry John.” She tugged Fireheart’s hand from her breast, set it to his side. “I’m sorry,” she said.

His features contorted, but she felt that he understood. “It is I who am sorry. I should not have touched you. It was not right.”

“It’s all right,” she murmured for she had liked having his hands on her. If only . . .

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I will leave Little River to journey to the north. Will you go before I return?”

“You are leaving? Why?”

“We have learned where the enemy is camped. We go to avenge our people. We must go to protect the Lenape from Iroquois attack.”

Joanna sensed that there was much he wasn’t telling her. “They are planning to attack again,” she guessed.

He didn’t answer as she studied him in the moonlight. His face was highlighted in the white glow, sharp angles and rugged planes. She wanted so desperately to stroke him, to kiss his lips, his chin . . . his jaw.

He seemed to close off his thoughts as she gazed at him. It would be a dangerous journey, she realized. Perhaps one during which his people would be killed.

A cold dark dread filled Joanna with fear. She didn’t want him to go! But how was she to stop him? He might desire her, but he didn’t love her. She had no claim on him.

He was silent for so long she wondered why he stayed. This meeting had done nothing to steal away her love for him. It had only deepened her pain.

Why had he come? she wondered. Because he felt guilty for making love to her, a virgin?

She frowned. No, she thought, such things were not viewed in the same way here as they were by the English. Neither was marriage, she realized. A brave could have more than one wife if he wanted. She had known of few relationships in which this was so, but they existed nevertheless.

“I hope you find your enemy,” she whispered. “But don’t get killed.”

He captured her chin, lifted her head, and studied her with an intensity that was unnerving.

“You are beautiful, Autumn Wind,” he murmured. “It will be a long time until this man will forget you.”

“I will never forget you,” she said, staring at his mouth. The memory of his kiss made her ache inside. She wanted those male lips pressed against hers. She wanted his arms around her, and more.

But it was more than physical attraction that drew her to him. She had seen his tenderness, his fairness and understanding when dealing with the Lenape people.

He will make a good husband,
she thought.
A good father.

She closed her eyes, withdrew from his hold. She rose, anxious to put distance between them.

“Be careful, Fireheart,” she said softly.

He nodded and allowed her to leave him.

She said a silent good-bye for, although she did not tell him, she would not be there when he returned to the village.

“No, John, stop! Someone may see us!”

John glanced about the forest then back at the woman before him. They had slipped away from the Lenape village to be alone. And from what he could see they had succeeded. “There is no one here, Gillian,” he said. “And it’s been too long.” He backed her against a tree. “Kiss me.”

“John—”

“Now!” he ordered. He leaned in to take her lips, but she turned her head away.

“Joanna—”

“Joanna isn’t here.” He scowled with frustration. He had been hard and aching for her for days now. It had been weeks since he’d lain with her, suckled her breasts. He spanned her waist with his hands.

“But this isn’t right—”

“Gillian,” John said with great patience, “are you willing to give up what we have just because I am marrying Joanna?”

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered.

“Then why are you hesitating when Joanna and I are not even man and wife yet?” He raised a hand to stroke her face. “Now kiss me, love,” he urged.

With a shuddering sigh, she complied, kissing him with all the pent-up passion that had been simmering below the surface since they’d left the inn in Philadelphia. “Oh, John,” she moaned after he’d nibbled on her lips and devoured the inside of her mouth.

“Yes, Gillian,” he rasped. Her breasts pushed up from the neckline of her gown. He reached inside her bodice and freed a plump ripe mound. As he cupped the soft swell, the nipple hardened, begging for his lips. He bent his head to capture the red bud between this teeth. Gillian gasped, arching, and caught his head with her hands.

“Oh, John . . .”

“Say it, Gilly,” he said. “Tell me it’s been too long and you want me.”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Say it.” His lips released her breast and he fondled her, one mound in each hand.

She whimpered. “Yes, yes! Take me! It’s been too long....”

He held up her breasts and nuzzled in the cleavage before sucking each one until she wriggled against him. He stepped back to free himself quickly, then he was lifting her skirts, pressing her against the tree, and plunging into her.

Gillian alternately moaned and gasped, and made little cries of pleasure deep in her throat as John thrust into her again and again. She screamed out her release, and his harsh cry joined hers within seconds.

When they were done, Gillian looked down at herself, saw her breasts lying above her gown, and felt the air about her bare legs and the dampness between her legs as he pulled out of her.

“There,” John said with a grin. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She gazed at him with her heart in her eyes and a lump of yearning in her throat. She loved him. She wanted to marry him, but he was to wed her best friend.

Heat burned in her belly as she thought of Joanna. She felt terribly guilty although John told her she shouldn’t.
She doesn’t love him like I do,
she thought.

“Gillian?” he said, perhaps reading the concern in her face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she assured him, nodding vigorously. She slipped first one breast then the other back into her gown bodice. “I’m fine.”

“You still love me, don’t you?” he asked, sounding unsure.

Gillian’s eyes met his, and her heart melted. He looked boyish, uncertain. She had to reassure him. “Yes, I love you,” she said softly.

He beamed a smile at her. “Don’t,” he said, as she began to lower and straighten her skirts. “I’m not done.”

Her eyes flashed with surprise as his hand snaked under her petticoats and found the most secret part of her, still pulsating. She gasped and stiffened as he began to stroke and worry the tiny nub of hidden pleasure. Gasping, she slid down the base of the tree, and he followed her down. As she lay on the ground with her skirts raised, and his hand caressing her, arousing her to the point of pain, John smiled and kissed her, then sent her over the pinnacle.

 

 

He heard the woman’s cries and the man’s grunt of pleasure. The brave saw the pair against the tree, and there was no doubt in his mind what the two were doing.

The Indian frowned. If what Little Blossom said was true, John Burton was to be Autumn Wind’s husband. But the woman with him was the other one, Gillian Gordon, Joanna’s friend.

Anger burned hotly in his chest as he turned away from the fornicating couple.

 

 

Joanna and her friends left the village the next day. Fireheart was gone. Black Fox had returned with the information Fireheart had requested about the enemy, and Fireheart had accompanied his party of men to the Iroquois encampment to the far north.

Although she longed to stay for Fireheart’s return, Joanna realized that now was the best time to leave. Her departure would be more painful if she waited to see the chief again.

She said good-bye to Mary and to Rising Bird who had stayed behind this time. Tears filled her eyes as she hugged her cousin.

“I’ll write,” she promised Mary.

Mary nodded. “I’ll write, too,” she said. “Every month, just like I did before.”

“You sent me other letters?” Joanna asked, puzzled.

“Yes.” Mary looked confused, and then anger brightened her expression. “He kept them from you, didn’t he? Roderick Neville took my letters and got rid of them before you knew they’d come.”

Joanna felt a sudden happiness. “You didn’t forget me when you sent me away,” she said. “You didn’t forget about me.”

“No. No!” Mary’s face crumbled as she gave way to tears. “I love you. I didn’t want you to go. I’d hoped you would want to return, but—”

John shifted impatiently behind her.

“Joanna, we need to go,” Gillian said, urging her friend.

Joanna glanced at her best friend and nodded. “I’ll write, and if I can, I’ll come back for a visit. I don’t know how soon it will be. . . .”

Mary nodded, her eyes bright. “Be safe.”

Rising Bird embraced his adopted daughter. “We will miss you, Autumn Wind,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” she said, aching, willing him not to cry. If he did, he would open up her floodgates, and she would be unable to stop sobbing. Her throat felt so tight that the lump at its base hurt her.

“Farewell, daughter,” Woman with Eyes of Hawk said.

Words were exchanged between her and her friends. There was Stormy Wind—her grandmother. Little Blossom with her husband Broken Bow and her daughter Water Flower. Even Moon Dove was there to see her off.

She smiled at all of them, then turned to John and Gillian. “I’m ready,” she murmured.

“Let’s go, then,” John said.

Joanna waved to her Lenape friends and left with John and Gillian, accompanied by Thomas Brown who had waited to take them back to the nearest white settlement.

Good-bye, Fireheart,
she thought, hurting.

Drums began to play shortly after the village was out of sight. The music was for her, Joanna realized, a farewell song. And it was then that she surrendered to tears.

 

 

Night had fallen. As Fireheart waited with his men, he could see the guards posted about the Iroquois encampment. A tall fence surrounded the village. They would have to get past the guards and the stockade to capture the Cayuga
sachem
in his longhouse.

The feat wouldn’t be an easy one. The Iroquois lived in structures large enough for many families. How could a few Lenape venture inside, kidnap the leader, and then escape without harm or capture?

Fireheart knew the risk he and his men were taking that evening. If the Cayuga caught them, they would be put to death or worse. The Iroquois delighted in torture. He had seen the remains of one of their victims, a sight that would forever be embedded in his memory.

There were fourteen warriors with Fireheart. He had asked Rising Bird to stay behind. If something happened to him, the warrior would avenge his death and see to his replacement.

They waited in the forest for the night to deepen. The best chance they had was while the villagers slept. They could easily dispose of the four guards near the gate and the stockade’s perimeter.

The plan had been clear to Fireheart: kidnap the Cayuga chief and make him talk of peace. Perhaps when he realized how vulnerable he was, Flaming Sky would be swayed. He could be made to understand that the Lenape people had killed his brothers not in aggression but in self-defense.

His men were spread out about the woods. As he lay in his own hiding place, Fireheart longed for Joanna. Had she left? Would he ever see her again?

His heart continued to beat with the sound of her name.
Autumn Wind.
He closed his eyes, then abruptly shook himself back to the present. He forced her from his mind because he had to.
Autumn Wind.

An owl cry captured his attention, and Fireheart’s last thoughts were of the woman he loved as he crept toward an Iroquois guard with raised tomahawk.

 

 

Joanna, Gillian, and John followed Thomas Brown through the forest on trails, occasionally veering from the path in whatever direction the fur trapper decided. Their departure day was beautiful. The weather was warm, but not humid, and the sun burned in a clear sky, its light filtering past the trees to brighten their travels.

“We’ll stop here for a brief rest,” Brown said.

Joanna was more than happy to stop. They’d been journeying since first light. The sun was directly overhead. She was hungry, having eaten only a corn cake in the village before they’d left.

They halted, and their guide rummaged through the pouch he had secured at his waist. Withdrawing several strips of dried venison, he handed each of them a piece.

“Eat up. We’ll not be stopping again until nightfall.”

Gillian groaned softly, but Joanna nodded. John glared at the man as he chewed off a piece of meat. “How long before we reach the nearest settlement?” he asked. They had come a different way. The area looked unfamiliar to him.

Brown shrugged. “A couple of days or so. It depends on how quickly the ladies can travel.”

“We’ll be able to keep up,” Joanna said, speaking for both of them. The farther away from the village they’d come the more dispirited she’d felt. She missed Mary and Rising Bird. She missed the Lenape people . . . and she especially longed to see Fireheart.

“May I have some water?” Gillian asked, her voice sounding small.

Joanna gave her friend the water-skin she’d been carrying. She explained how to drink from it without spilling, and watched as Gillian quenched her thirst. When Gillian was done, Joanna took back the skin, drank some of the water herself, and set the container down on the ground beside her.

Her first thought before leaving was to wear her doeskin tunic for the garment would be the best for traveling, better than the blue calico gown she had finally chosen to wear. But she had realized that she would look out of place once they’d reached the settlement.

Her feet hurt, but she hadn’t complained. She had discarded her comfortable moccasins for her old leather shoes.

Flashing her friend a glance, Joanna saw that Gillian fared no better. She looked tired. Her midnight hair was disheveled, and her features were drawn. She had come through the wilderness because she’d been worried about her friend. Grateful, Joanna smiled at the young woman, and touched her arm in sympathy for her discomfort.

She turned her attention to her other friend, now her fiancé, John. He was handsome, she thought with affection. But would she—could she—be happy as his wife?

For not the first time since she’d accepted his proposal, Joanna experienced doubts. She and John were friends. He loved her in his own way, he’d said. She could be happy with someone who loved her, she thought. She closed her eyes on a wave of pain. She could be happy with Fireheart. Would she be happy with John? Would she make him a good wife?

Fireheart was marrying another. She would be happy with John, she told herself. Very happy.

Joanna ignored the tiny voice inside her that said she would be more miserable in England with John than she would be in the village, even with Fireheart married to another.