Judith E. French (19 page)

Ross Campbell was waiting for them when the canoes touched the sandy shore. He was a dark-haired giant of a man who clearly showed his Indian heritage. The strain of concern for his wife’s condition and sleepless nights lay heavy across his handsome features. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, extending a hand to Wolf Shadow. “Moonfeather’s with her now, but it’s not good.” He glanced back at a boy holding two horses and lowered his tone. “She says the babe’s crossways.” His strong voice carried a Scots burr, softened by the flavor of Algonquian speech.

Wolf Shadow plucked Fiona from the canoe and set her down on the bank. “This is my wife,” he said. “Moonfeather’s sister.”

One of Ross’s dark brows rose quizzically. Wolf Shadow shot him a meaningful glance. “You’re doubly welcome then. Stewart is here. He’s back at the house with Anne.”

. It was Fiona’s turn to look puzzled. “Cameron Stewart?” She wondered why he was here at Fort Campbell.

Wolf Shadow motioned toward his companions. “We were attacked on the river by Matiassu and his Seneca dogs.” A muscle twitched along his jawline. “We buried my sister just south of the falls.”

“You’re sure it was Matiassu?” Ross asked. When Wolf Shadow nodded, the tall half-breed swore softly “Damn him to a fiery hell.”

“He got away.”

“Again. If any man has signed a pact with the devil, it’s Matiassu,” Ross said. “He was a good man once. I used to hunt with him when we were boys.”

“All boys do not grow into the same sort of men.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ross said. “I met your sister. She was a good woman. If there is anything I can do . . .”

“Matiassu will pay for his deeds,” Wolf Shadow promised.

“I’ll send out extra sentries. We’ve had no attacks on Wanishish-eyun in years, but with Matiassu on the warpath, we’d best take no chances.”

“First we will see to your wife,” Wolf Shadow said.

“Aye.” Ross sighed. “We’d best hurry back to the house.” He motioned to the child to bring the horses. “This is our son, Royal.”

Fiona smiled at the little boy. Royal Campbell was as comely as a girl, with great dark eyes and a mop of coal-black hair. He wore doeskin breeches and a fringed, open vest; his skin was tanned as brown as an Indian’s.

Royal flashed her a shy grin.

When this boyo’s grown, his father will have to beat off the colleens with a stick, Fiona thought. She tried to guess his age. Eight? He was still a child; his eyes were full of sweet innocence. She wanted to ask if he was Anne’s son. If he was, that meant she’d already delivered one live child, which greatly improved their chances of delivering another. “How old are you?” she asked him.

Ross took the reins of the bay gelding. “He’s six. Royal’s big for his age. We’ve a wee bairn of three that favors Anne more than this one.” Ross swung up into the gelding’s saddle and pulled his son up behind him. Wolf Shadow and Fiona mounted the second horse. Fiona sat in front of Wolf Shadow and balanced her surgical kit on her lap.

The trading post, the stables, and the outbuildings lay some distance from Heatherfield, the stone manor house where Anne and Ross lived. Pausing only briefly to give instructions to his employees to be on their guard and to give Wolf Shadow’s companions whatever they needed, Ross led the way down the valley toward the house. Amookas and Alex Mackenzie remained at Fort Campbell with the others.

When the four reached the front gate at Heatherfield, an English servant carrying a lantern ran out to take the horses. Even in the dark, Fiona could see that Ross Campbell’s home was magnificent. Possessing five bays and gable-ends, the plastered and whitewashed stone house rose two and a half stories from the neatly manicured lawn. The massive front door was studded with iron nails, and the twelve-pane windows boasted, real glass, and inner and outer shutters.

A middle-aged woman in a starched mobcap and apron opened the front door. “Thank God ye’re here, m‘lord. Lady Anne’s callin’ fer ye. Puir lass, she’s sufferin’ mair then most.”

“Aye.” Ross pushed the boy toward her. “Go wi’ Greer now, there’s a good laddie.” His voice was near to cracking. “Put him to bed in your room, will ye?”

“Might as well; the little’un’s there already.” She tousled Royal’s hair. “Would ye like a cake before ye go to sleep, now?”

“I want to see my mama.”

“In the morning. You’ll see her then.” Still soothing the child, the housekeeper led him away toward the back of the house.

Fiona glanced around the marble-floored center hall. Heavy-framed oil paintings hung along the walls. Several doors lined the hall, all closed now. Beneath the largest portrait stood a mahogany hunt table flanked by two elegant chairs. Real Turkish carpets were scattered over the floor, and she could see a tall case clock on the stair landing.

Ross Campbell must be a wealthy man to afford such splendor, Fiona mused. She wondered why he had chosen to remain in the wilderness—far from any white settlement—and why he acted and sounded more like a frontier trapper than a great lord. And she also wondered why such a powerful man hadn’t brought a real physician to see to his wife’s delivery.

Almost as though he’d read her mind, Ross answered her last question. “We had a Virginia doctor here last week,” he said, “but Moonfeather sent him packing. He tried to examine Anne with dirty hands, and he wanted to give her laudanum for her pains.”

As they started up the wide staircase, Cameron Stewart appeared at the top. His eyes met Fiona’s, and he halted. Fiona was shocked by his appearance; the nobleman seemed to have aged ten years in the weeks since she’d last seen him.

“Fiona,” he said.

“I didn’t think to meet you here,” she managed. Ross and Wolf Shadow exchanged glances again, and Fiona looked back at Cameron. “Are you a friend of the lady?” she asked stiffly. She felt Wolf Shadow’s eyes on her. Uneasily, she shifted her feet on the stairs.

“You might say that,” Cameron answered. “Please, hurry.” He stepped back. Fiona noticed that his eyes were red and puffy, as though he’d been crying.

Ross continued on, reaching out to touch Cameron’s sleeve in sympathy as they passed him. Fiona and Wolf Shadow followed close behind. It was all she could do not to turn and stare at her father again.

The mystery of Cameron’s odd behavior vanished from her mind as soon as Fiona entered the master bedchamber. Moonfeather looked up from her patient and gave an audible sigh of relief.

“You’re here.” She motioned for them to approach the tall poster bed.

Anne Campbell lay back against the pillows with a face as pale as tallow. She wore a lacy pink linen gown buttoned up to her neck with tiny pearl buttons. Her delicate face was contorted with pain, and it looked to Fiona as if someone had rubbed black smudges of charcoal beneath both eyes. Her lips bore traces of teeth marks and blood where she had bitten through the skin. Lady Anne managed a weak smile and tried to sit up. “Welcome, shaman,” she rasped between cracked lips. “Welcome to Heatherfield, both of you. I wish your visit were a happier occasion. I’m afraid I ...”

“Shhh,” Moonfeather chided. “Save your strength.”

Fiona’s eye was drawn to the patient’s swollen belly beneath the linen sheet. As she watched, a faint movement stirred the covering.

Anne gasped and clasped her stomach. She stroked the mound with loving fingers. “Still alive,” she whispered. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Promise me you’ll save the baby,” she said. “Save my baby, no matter what happens to me.”

“Nay.” Ross went to his wife’s side and knelt beside the bed. He took her translucent hand in his and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Nay,” he repeated. His deep voice cracked with emotion. “Save my bonny Anne. We have two children already, but there is only one Anne.”

Moonfeather came to Fiona’s side. “If you’ve Irish magic is that bag of yours, we’ll need it, sister. I’ve done all I can for her, and it’s not enough.”

“We must wash and purify ourselves,” Wolf Shadow said quietly. “I’ll want to examine her myself. Will she allow—”

“Anne cares more for her child’s life than for false modesty,” Moonfeather answered. She broke off as Royal’s voice came loudly from the hall.

“I don’t care. I want to see her. I want to see my mama!”

“Not now,” Cameron said. “Your mama’s tired.”

“Mama!”

“Bring him in,” Anne whispered. “I want to see him.”

Moonfeather went to the door and returned a moment later with Cameron, who was carrying the boy in his arms. Royal squirmed to get down, and Cameron released him. He ran to his mother, then grew shy. His lower lip quivered, and his brown eyes dilated until they seemed to fill his face, but he didn’t cry.

Anne hugged him against her with more strength than Fiona would have thought the slender Englishwoman could possibly possess.

“I don’t want you to die. Don’t die, Mama. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t bring my raccoon into the parlor anymore, and I’ll be nice to my brother. I promise.”

“Give your lady mother a kiss,” Ross said, “and then it’s off to bed with you.”

Fiona saw Anne’s belly tense, and she knew that another birth pain was seizing her. But Anne didn’t cry out. She set her teeth together and forced a wan smile as Ross gathered the boy in his arms.

“No . . . wait.” Lady Anne’s breath was coming in short, hard pants. “I want you to have this, darling.” She fumbled at the back of her neck and unfastened a golden chain. Dangling from it was a glittering amulet exactly like Fiona’s. Her heart began to pound harder. “You must . . . you must give it ... to your first girl-child, Royal. It’s a magic neck—Ohhh.” She clenched her eyes shut, and Ross pushed the necklace into the child’s hand and nudged him swiftly toward the door.

“But I want to stay here with my mama,” Royal insisted. “She won’t die if I stay with her.”

Cameron took the protesting boy from Ross and hurried from the room. Anne arched her body and moaned softly as sweat broke out on her forehead.

“I don’t understand,” Fiona said.

“ ’Tis simple enough,” Moonfeather replied.

“Cameron Stewart is Royal’s grandfather. He’s my father, and yours, and Anne’s. Anne is our sister, Fiona, the English one whose name ye didna wish to know.” She looked back to the bed where Anne writhed in agony. “She is our sister, and she needs us. Will you help her?”

A
n hour later, Fiona stepped away from Anne’s bed and looked up at Wolf Shadow. Acute disappointment filled her green eyes. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t turn the baby.” Moonfeather brought her a bowl of water, and she washed the blood and birth fluid from her hands.

Wolf Shadow leaned over Anne and held his fingertips over her lips. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He’d given her a strong potion of powdered moccasin flower and painted trillium. She was exhausted, her life spirit clinging to earth by a spiderweb. He’d known when he’d first looked at her what they would have to do, but he’d allowed Fiona to try her skill first.

He regarded his wife with pride. Fiona was bright and she learned quickly, but most of all she cared about her patients. She would be great medicine woman. Her white skin meant nothing; the Shawnee would sing of her and weave legends of her magic for their children’s children. He sighed. If there were any children’s children ...

If he couldn’t persuade his people to join together against the flood of Europeans, there might not be a future for the Shawnee. He wondered if he was taking too much risk in keeping Fiona as his wife. Hadn’t he been the one who’d told the Shawnee and Delaware to reject all things belonging to the white race?

Inwardly, he smiled. Shaman . . . moon dancer. After his long years of training—after his exile in England—he was just a man like other men. A man who’d lost his heart to a slim, red-haired woman. His love for her was so great that it threatened to drive all else from his mind. To his shame, even when his sister lay dying in his arms, he’d been glad that it wasn’t Fiona.

Willow. His beloved sister. He could speak her name silently, if he could not say it aloud. Her death had cost him part of his own soul, and he’d not rest until she was avenged. Later he would offer prayers for her spirit; he would sing the songs of transition and cut his body to honor her life. He would mourn her passing deeply and sincerely for the rest of his days. He would never, never forget her or the sacrifice she had made for him.

But as a shaman, he knew that the living must come first. His personal mourning could wait. Fiona’s sister, Anne, would not live if they didn’t take action at once. And even then, they might lose her and the babe.

So, first, before he hunted Matiassu to his death, he must use his power as a healer.

“Wolf Shadow,” Fiona said, interrupting his reverie.

He blinked and focused on her face, yanked back into an awareness of where he was by the urgency in her voice.

“The bleeding is becoming worse. If we don’t act quickly, the baby will die,” she said.

“You know what we must do,” he answered.

“I know,” Fiona agreed, “but I’m afraid.”

He gave her a half smile. “Courage is never the lack of fear. Courage is doing what must be done in spite of it.”

He glanced at Moonfeather. “Lay blankets on the floor and cover them with linen.” Without waiting to see that she obeyed, he picked up Anne and carried her to the center of the room. “We will need more lamps, as many as you can find.” If it were daylight, he would have taken Anne outside, but it was night, and they couldn’t wait until morning.

Fiona pulled a corner of the linen sheet taut. “Wouldn’t a table be better? I saw one downstairs in the hall. We could carry it up here.”

He frowned. “A shaman does much of his healing on his knees so that the earth can give strength to the patient.”

Fiona’s green eyes dilated with apprehension. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked him.

“Twice.” Once, the mother had died and he’d saved the child. The second time, he’d not been able to save the baby either. “Have you?” he demanded.

“I’ve, seen my grandfather perform cesarean sections. I helped him stitch a woman up, but I didn’t do the actual surgery.”

Fiona was pale but calm. She’d scrubbed her hands until they were raw and washed her entire body, as Wolf Shadow had insisted. Both Fiona and Moonfeather were wearing Anne’s clean linen shifts. Moonfeather had passed Fiona’s surgical instruments through fire.

“I’ll do the cutting,” he said. “I’ve not used your clamps, but you know how they should be placed.”

Fiona knelt beside her sleeping sister and laid a hand on her forehead. “If we do it here on the floor, how will you tie her down?”

Moonfeather looked horrified. “Nay, we willna bind her. Anne will sleep as she does now.”

It was Fiona’s turn to recoil. “My grandfather was trained in surgery at the finest university. His patients were always awake.”

“She has had enough pain,” Wolf Shadow said. “Would you give her more?”

“To save her life, yes,” Fiona replied. She lifted Anne’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Her blood flow is very slow. She may be dying already.”

Wolf Shadow shook his head. “No, it is better this way. She will lose less blood when I cut. The medicine makes her pulse slow.” He laid his head against her chest and was relieved to hear the strong, steady beat of Anne’s heart. He looked at Moonfeather. “Bring your father. Tell him to purify himself with water and prayer. He can hold the light for us, and if your sister crosses over the river of no return, he can hold the newborn child and keep its soul from following.”

“Cameron?” Fiona said. “I don’t want him here. We don’t need him.”

“Anne needs him, and perhaps his grandchild will too,” Wolf Shadow answered.

“No. Why not Ross Campbell, if you must have someone else? Or Amookas?”

“This is no place for a husband. In his fear for her life, he might do something that would cause great harm. Amookas is at the trading post. Cameron is her father. He understands what we are doing, and he will not flinch from whatever comes. I say he must be here.”

Fiona bit back an angry reply. “I thought you didn’t trust Englishmen,” she said.

“Cameron was always an exception.”

“And me? Am I an exception?” she demanded.

“Since I’ve met you, I’ve changed many of my ideas,” he answered smoothly. “Moohfeather? If you will call Cameron . . .” He closed his eyes and uttered a prayer that his hand might be steady and Anne’s spirit strong. He was certain he could save the child if he cut at once, but whether Anne would survive the ordeal was up to Inu-msi-ila-fe-wanu.

A few minutes later, with Moonfeather and Cameron watching, and Fiona close by his side, Wolf Shadow placed his palm on Anne’s swollen belly and made a deft incision in her pale flesh.

He heard Fiona gasp as blood spilled over and stained the linen sheets. Again he cut, slicing the steel scalpel through muscle and tissue. Anne stirred, but her eyes remained closed, and she made no outcry. Carefully, Wolf Shadow widened the slit. “Now,” he ordered Fiona. “Reach in and take the child.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her small hands plunged into the bloody opening nearly to her elbows. “I have an arm,” she murmured. “Wait . . . there’s . . .”

Sweat beaded his forehead, and time seemed to slow. Anne’s lifeblood was seeping through his fingers.

“I have him,” Fiona cried. “Cautiously, inch by inch, she drew forth the feet and legs of a perfectly formed male infant. “Ohhh, come on now, boyo,” she murmured. She slipped one shoulder loose and then the head, and lifted him free from his mother. Cradling him in the crook of her arm, Fiona scooped his mouth free of matter, then tilted him upside down to clear his nose and throat.

The baby sneezed and let out a yell that would have done justice to a Seneca. His sturdy arms and legs flailing, he opened his eyes and began to howl. Quickly Moonfeather tied two knots in the infant’s cord and cut it.

“Give him to Cameron,” Wolf Shadow commanded Fiona. “I need you here, now.”

She handed the baby to her father. For an instant their hands touched, and Wolf Shadow saw mutual caring leap across the chasm between them.

“Now,” he said: “Clamp this.”

Fiona pinched off a bleeding vessel and found a needle and thread. “Shall I stitch or you?” she asked. Her face glowed with the wonder of birth. One curling red strand had come loose from her braid and hung over her forehead. “I can do it. My sewing is neater than yours.”

He nodded, and she began to close up the incision. It was slow, tedious, bloody work, but by the time she’d reached the second layer, he could feel Anne’s breathing becoming stronger. If infection didn’t set in, they would save both mother and child—he knew it.

Fiona pursed her lips and concentrated on each tiny stitch. Moisture glistened in the hollow of her throat above her amulet, and he had the strangest desire to lick it off.

He glanced over at Cameron. He’d swaddled the babe in clean, soft wrapping and was rocking him as gently as any woman. Cameron’s cheeks were wet with tears, but his eyes sparkled. He was a good man, Wolf Shadow mused, no matter what he’d done in his life. He was a loving father and grandfather, and he’d be a good father to Fiona as well, if she’d give him half a chance.

“You’re not bad at this,” Wolf Shadow teased her. With the help of Inu-msi-ila-fe-wanu, they had snatched life from the Dark Warrior. He felt the shaman power surging up in him, and he wanted to dance and sing out his exaltation to the stars.

He wanted to lie down with this magnificent woman of his and make hot, passionate love to her.

Fiona raised her head and looked at the baby. Stewart grinned. “He’s strong,” he said. “I thought he’d be weak after all he’s been through.”

“It’s his English blood,” Fiona said. “The Sassenach are a stubborn lot; they don’t give up easily.”

“Neither do the Irish,” Cameron said. “Thank you, Fiona, thank you both. They’d have died if you hadn’t . . .” His voice broke. He blinked back tears and gently kissed the baby’s head. “I guess it’s time that I took this young fellow out to meet his papa.”

“Just another few minutes,” Fiona said. “Let me finish this, and we’ll get Anne cleaned up, then he can come in and see them both.” She glanced at Anne’s serene face. “Still asleep. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Then you and I will go and wash,” Wolf Shadow said. “There’s a stream a few hundred yards behind the house.”

“In a stream?” She straightened up and eased the tension on her back and neck. “I guess so, if you think Anne will be all right.”

“I’ll stay wi’ her,” Moonfeather said. “She’ll sleep for hours, and when she wakes I’ll give her more of the medicine mixed with honey and tea. She will be in pain for many days, and it’s better for her if she sleeps.”

“Leave her here on the floor,” Wolf Shadow ordered Cameron. “She’s not to be moved for a day and a night. I don’t want her to lose a drop more of blood than she needs to.”

“Don’t worry. Ross will do anything you say. You’ve saved the woman he loves more than life itself.”

Wolf Shadow smiled. So, he thought, I’m not the only one who feels this way. These three sisters have a magic about them. They capture men’s hearts and make them believe that life without them would be empty. He chuckled. And perhaps it would be. Perhaps it would . . .

 

The waxing moon was much lower in the night sky when Wolf Shadow and Fiona finished washing the last traces of blood and body fluids from their hair and skin. Ross had directed them to a pool in the bend of the wide stream that flowed several hundred yards behind the manor house. The grateful Earl of Strathmar hadn’t questioned why they wanted to wash in flowing water rather than in a scented bath attended by servants. He’d merely called a maid to bring them soap and thick towels, and then wished them enjoyment of his and Anne’s private trysting spot.

Fiona was so weary that she waded into the pool still clad in Anne’s linen shift. She dropped to her knees in the shallows and soaped and rinsed her hair until it gleamed like sleek otter fur in the moonlight. Wolf Shadow stripped himself naked and bathed from head to toe, but most of all, he watched her.

She was small and neat, as slender as a willow, with well-shaped breasts and buttocks, this wife of his. He never tired of looking at her fair skin. Tonight, in the moon’s glow, that fair skin was as white as shell. Her glorious mane of hair, loosened from its thick braid, fell free nearly to her hips.

He held his breath and listened. There was no sound but the sighing of the trees and the laughing song of the stream as it hurried toward the mother river in the valley below. To the north, an owl hooted. Wolf Shadow, waiting for the answering call, mentally counted the space of time in his head. The sound came, and he smiled and relaxed. He’d brought his woman to this place of water and trees and star-strewn sky to be alone with her, but he was not so foolish as to risk her life by bringing her here without guards. Even now, two of his warriors prowled the forest, keeping watch for the enemy.

Fiona turned her head to look at him. Her large eyes were luminous in the moonlight. Desire pierced his chest and he moistened his lips. All his life he had watched almond-eyed women and thought them beautiful; now this fire-haired
equiwa
with eyes as round and liquid as a doe had driven all other women from his mind.