Passion's Series

PASSION’S SERIES

By

Mary Adair

Copyright 2014

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Kindle Edition.

Passion’s Vision

Passion’s Vision

Historical Romance

By

Copyright 2010 Mary Adair

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

All rights reserved. ISBN: 1452884412

Author Contact Information.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mary-Adair/147333405423761

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents or either the product in the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Dedication:

With love I dedicate Passion’s Vision to my husband, Michael and my son Michael who is truly ‘
the apple of his mother’s eye’

And the angel of God spake unto me in a dream... And he said, "Lift up now thine eyes, and see... "

Genesis 31: 11-12 K.J.V.

Prologue:

New Moon raised her arms high as she stretched up and out to the sky. A chill ran along her body and she shivered. She lowered her arms and wrapped them about her as she looked out at the tops of the pines and down to the valley below. For two days she had been here, on this ledge of her beloved mountain. The screech of an eagle captured her attention and she looked up.

Her husband had called her his, "Little sparrow with the heart of an eagle." If only he were here with her. But he wasn't, and so soon the other would arrive. She longed to soar like an eagle now, but she couldn't. So, like the tiny sparrow, she would not be able to escape her fate.

In her vision she saw a child growing within her belly. A tear ran down her cheek as she placed a hand to her flat stomach. As badly as she had wanted to give her husband a child and as fervently as she had prayed to the Great Spirit for that one blessing, she had not conceived.

Was this new vision truly from the Great Spirit, or was all of this a cruel joke from the Trickster? What could it all mean? What would it mean to her and to her people?

New Moon made her way down the side of the mountain to where her brother, Chief Dancing Cloud, waited. Her muscles ached and her stomach rumbled with hunger from the deprivation of her vigil.

"Did the vision come to you?"

He sounded tired, as tired as New Moon felt. She massaged the tense muscles at the back of her neck. What lay ahead would not be easy.

"Yes," she answered and would have walked past but he put out a hand to stop her.

"The spirits tell you there will be another. Your heart should be happy," he insisted.

Logic! Her brother was always so logical. She looked past Dancing Cloud to the dawning horizon and blinked in an effort to control the tears that threatened once again to come to her eyes.

"Yes, the spirits say he is coming. But I say to you, brother, I will not belong to another. My spirit is too strong. If this were not so I would have been able to give my husband a son."

She drew in a ragged, steadying breath. "I am a warrior." Her resolve strengthened as his spine stiffened. Just saying the words gave her power. "If he had allowed me to go with him, he would not have died. I would have saved him from the white renegade."

New Moon knew Cloud felt her pain and anger as deeply as he felt his own. Yet his argument remained the same. The damp, cool breeze caressed her skin. The direction of the wind changed, and she shivered.

"You are a warrior, my sister," Cloud agreed. "But you are also a woman. You could not save your husband. The spirits were ready for him to join them." He pointed to her bandaged wrist.

"It is not good that you still wear bandages on your arms. Your time of mourning is over. It is time to let the sad song from your heart. Think about the one the spirits are sending. That will make your song turn happy."

New Moon looked at him. "I have been thinking about the one the spirits say is coming," she answered before he had a chance to speak again. "I will belong to no man, my brother, and never to a white man!"

Surprise leaped into Cloud's eyes. "A white man?"

"Yes." She felt better now. Her brother would understand. "The spirits send a white man. A man with hair the color of the great river's clay and eyes the color of the summer sky. I will not belong to him!"

With growing dread, New Moon stomped past, leaving Cloud to watch her retreating form while he wrestled with her revelation.

Chapter One

1734 Appalachian Mountains, Upper South Carolina.

"Damn it, Thomas, I thought you said we were in Cherokee Territory and would have safe passage!" James Fitzgerald yelled above the bloodcurdling whoops of their attackers.

"We are! And we do!" Thomas Brown yelled in answer. He aimed his flintlock and fired at an advancing warrior. "In fact, we're so close to Chota Town they can probably hear the racket." He tossed the gun aside and snatched a loaded one from Little Buffalo. "Keep'em comin', boy! Yer maw would be proud of ya!"

James fired and missed. With a curse, he tossed the gun to Buffalo. He'd been in many dangerous situations but had to admit, none quite as exhilarating as being pinned down by a dozen or two screaming natives. He leaned toward Thomas and yelled to be heard above the earsplitting noise, "Then why are they attacking us here, so close to a village?"

At that moment a particularly fierce looking native jumped up from cover and dashed toward them. James snatched up a tomahawk and sent it flying. The primitive instrument buried itself into the chest of the charging Indian who jerked back from the impact.

With what seemed to be inhuman strength, the Indian stumbled the last few steps before finally crumpling forward. James leaned back as the warrior fell. The dead body draped motionless across the log behind which James, Thomas, and young Buffalo crouched.

Thomas’ gravelly, ever complaining voice pricked at James. "I thought maybe you was goin' ta invite that one over fer tea," he snorted and reached up to push the body away. Thomas’ hand froze halfway to its mark as Buffalo yelped in Indian fashion and scrambled forward. Before either man knew what the boy intended. Buffalo expertly, and with seemingly great enthusiasm, scalped the fallen warrior.

"Damn!" Thomas swore as he scratched at his ragged, gray whiskers. His gaze swung to James and his lips pulled back in a toothless grin.

James was glad he was far enough away not to smell Thomas’ breath. What few teeth the man had left were black with neglect and decay.

"I guess I lied when I said this one was tame," he intoned with obvious pleasure.

Before James had a chance to ponder Thomas’ propensity to increase his discomfort at every opportunity, a yell rent the air. Another warrior sprang up and charged.

Thomas quickly turned and fired. "I'd be careful if I was you, Fitzgerald." He glanced at Buffalo and then back to James. "Some savages take a special likin' ta red hair."

Buffalo looked proudly at Thomas as he stuffed the scalp into his waistband. With the blood still on his hands he reached for the spent musket.

James ignored Thomas and the boy as he aimed his firearm. This time he didn't miss.

The past ten years of James' life in the king's service had been a life spent alone, a life filled with secret missions. The face of death hid neatly behind the mask of civilization and clothed itself in miss-matched loyalties, a dark deadly puzzle to be unraveled.

Now he was here, where death wore a painted face with a gaping mouth and mobile tongue frantically pumping to fill the air with nerve shattering screams. He'd never felt so close to death, or so alive. Out here the two went hand in hand.

James smiled at Buffalo. "You know the scalp really belongs to me." Though James knew some might think their humor misplaced at a time like this, having danced with death on numerous occasions, he understood the need for levity.

"You owe me. Remember?" the boy yelled back and tossed a fresh gun in his direction.

James snatched the loaded musket from the air just as he heard Thomas gasp. He saw Thomas crumple forward grasping at his shoulder. There was no time to examine his wound. James swung his musket around and fired. Another Indian fell.

"If we get out of this one alive, boy, you can have all the scalps!" he promised Buffalo with a yell.

"Look!"

James spun around at the sound of Buffalo's voice. He'd known it would be only a matter of time before some of the warriors circled around to their rear.

He froze for the span of a heartbeat. Not fifty feet away an Indian woman stood, her face partially hidden from his view by the bow she held stretched and ready to let fly an arrow.

Quickly pulling up his musket, he pointed the barrel in her direction. James had never killed a woman. The muscle worked in his cheek. Sudden, searing pain shot up his arm as his shot went astray.

He fell to one side and looked at Thomas in disbelief. The old mad man had actually kicked him on the elbow, sending his shot well wide of its mark.

Thomas gripped his bleeding shoulder as he choked out, "Cherokee!"

At that moment an arrow whistled past James' head and the Indian who stopped it stumbled over their barricade to land across one of his legs. A quick look back revealed the woman was gone.

Cherokee burst upon the scene. James would not have believed the din of earsplitting whoops could increase, but increase it did.

"Hot damn! I knew they would make it!" Thomas cheered through gritted teeth, and then moaned just as enthusiastically.

James noted the pride that glowed in his partner's face. It appeared the old thorn in the flesh had a particular liking for this tribe.

"That's right, lad." Thomas chuckled as if he'd heard James' thought and then shifted himself to better wait out the battle. "These here are Dancin' Cloud's warriors."

Their attackers, as of one mind, slipped back into the trees and disappeared. The forest again turned silent as the whoops died down and the Cherokee warriors followed the retreating renegades.

Buffalo wasted no time climbing over their arrow-laden barricade to scramble, knife in hand, to lift whatever scalps were still available.

Pushing himself to his feet James looked out at the scene before him. Bodies lay scattered about as the boy scurried, dipped and danced among the dead he further mutilated.

The stench of spent gunpowder and the coppery sweet odor of blood hung heavy in the early morning air to mix with the clean scents of forest mint and kicked-up soil. The scent of death mixed with the smell of life.

Remembering the woman, James looked back once more. "That was a woman who popped up over there?" he said, sounding stupid.

"Sure was." Thomas whistled loudly, mimicking James' call to bring his mount. "Now where do you suppose that crazy horse of yours is? I imagine the mules are long gone by now and my Daisy along with 'um."

"They're not gone." Buffalo intoned with awe.

Both men turned around to get a look at what could have so enraptured their young companion.

A warrior whose size very closely matched James' own impressive physique approached, his long legs covering the ground swiftly and gracefully. In one hand he gripped the lead ropes of both mules.

Amazingly, the packs were still tied in place. Eagle, James' black stallion, followed docilely behind. Unfortunately, Daisy, Thomas’ old mare, was not with them.

James watched as the proud warrior squatted down in front of Thomas and examined his shoulder.

"You will live, old friend," the Indian announced as he stood and, with surprising gentleness, pulled Thomas to his feet.

***

New Moon stood before the open doorway of her summer lodge and peered into the dark interior. Behind her she heard the excitement in the village; it crawled over her skin like a thousand ants. She breathed deeply of the scent of wood-smoke and roasting meat, but not even the comforting aromas that spoke of the safety of her home quieted the uneasiness in her spirit.

His hair was the deep rich color of the great river's clay. Every nerve, every sense, told her he was the one. She sensed him now, drawing closer.

As if in response to her thoughts, the village quieted. Even the dogs that had moments before yelped suddenly stilled. She did not have to turn around to know all eyes except hers watched him. He would at this moment be coming through the gate of the tall wooden wall surrounding their community.