Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (14 page)

"I'm sorry," Alanna exclaimed, "but romantic intrigues are simply too much for me. When we come back to Sally's, I'm going to park the wagon by the back door, so I can slip in and out without anyone else knowing I've come into town."

"You are such a silly goose," Melissa chided. "Both you and Randolph are so painfully shy, I doubt anything will ever come of your friendship."

"Good."

Melissa watched Alanna slap the reins on the horse's rump to speed his pace, and wondered as she frequently did, how they could have such differing attitudes when they were blood relatives. In the next instant, she envied her cousin, for Alanna would never have become involved with an Indian brave—or any man for that matter—with the disgraceful haste she'd displayed. She closed her eyes briefly and repeated a silent prayer for divine protection from future indiscretion.

"I do hope Byron and Elliott are all right," she then remarked. "They're scarcely backwoodsmen, like the men with Captain Trent."

Alanna was ashamed of how little thought she had given to her absent cousins. "Maybe they've never skinned a bear, but they know how to ride and shoot. I'm sure they're fine officers, too."

"Yes, they must be."

The next time Alanna glanced toward Melissa, she was asleep. That was such an unusual occurrence she didn't know what to make of it. Melissa had always had boundless amounts of energy, and even after long evenings required no more than a brief nap the next day. They hadn't been up late the previous evening though, so she couldn't understand why Melissa was so tired. Perhaps she wasn't sleeping well, but she hadn't complained after that one night of tears. If anything, she had been almost too cheerful, displaying what appeared to be a forced gaiety at times.

When they reached the gate at the end of the lane leading to their home, Alanna gave Melissa's shoulder a gentle shake. "Wake up, we're home."

Startled, Melissa's eyes flew open, and she quickly straightened up. She barely recalled leaving Williamsburg, so she knew she had slept all the way home. "I'm sorry. I wasn't very good company for you, was I?" she asked.

She and Melissa spent most of their time together, but Alanna knew neither of them confided wholly in the other. Their personalities were simply too different for them to ever be as close as some sisters or best friends were. Melissa might be overly concerned with impressing others, but Alanna knew she could draw an equal amount of criticism for being too distant, so neither of them was perfect.

"Is something wrong?" Alanna asked. "I know you're concerned about your brothers, but if you've another problem, with Ian perhaps, or someone else, I could at least listen, even if I might not be able to provide any helpful advice."

Alanna's expression reflected not only a compassion which invited such a confidence, but also an innocent sweetness that made confiding in her impossible. How could Melissa ever admit what she had done, when the enjoyment of a man's affection was so completely out of Alanna's realm of experience? Melissa ground her fingernails into her palms to force back her tears.

"I haven't been sleeping well, but I think it's just a combination of the boys leaving, Ian's attentions, and the excitement of the upcoming Publick Times. Now let me get the gate."

Melissa hopped down from the wagon before Alanna could question her response, but she feared she was going to have to be much more careful. Alanna could sense the distress she hid from her parents' eyes, so she would have to bury her secret even deeper. Perhaps Ian would come to see her that evening, and with his laughter reflected in her eyes, no one would perceive her pain.

* * *

When they reached Will's Creek, Hunter was astonished to find William Trent in residence, but the captain had left forty men with Ensign Ward, and had complete confidence in their ability to construct the fort on their own. In Hunter's opinion, forty men might be sufficient to build a fort, but it certainly wouldn't be enough to defend it. The French had thousands of soldiers in Canada, and if they chose to invade the Ohio Valley, Hunter knew one small fort would cost them no more than a few minutes' delay.

Because no one turned him away, he had stayed close as the officers discussed their plans, but when none expressed any fear of the French, he again thought they had a feeble grasp of the situation. With his sighting of the wolf still in mind, he was about to say so, when Washington announced he intended to move his reinforcements to the new fort with all possible haste. Hunter relaxed then. At Governor Dinwiddie's behest, Washington had gone to Fort Le Boeuf near Lake Erie in December, to insist the French remove themselves from territories belonging to the king of Great Britain, and it was apparent he understood that the threat posed by the French was very real indeed.

His initial impression of the intelligence of the young lieutenant colonel confirmed, Hunter went to bed eagerly anticipating the next part of their journey. From Will's Creek, it was one hundred forty miles to the new fort. They would be traveling through dense forest now, and crossing two mountain ranges, innumerable hills, and fording fast-moving streams. It would not be an easy trip, but this was the exciting kind of traveling Hunter relished, where a man had to rely on all his skills to survive.

The next morning plans were still being made, and the troops were taking a much needed rest, but Hunter wasn't tired and left camp early to scout the trail. He had not gone far when he heard someone moving up fast behind him. Not wanting company, he stepped into the trees to let them pass. When Vernon Avey and his two cronies trotted by, Hunter was tempted to laugh out loud. They had no reason to enter the forest, but if they were tracking him, they would soon turn back, and he remained hidden to see what they would do.

Vernon was positive the scout hadn't left camp more than three minutes ahead of them, but when they reached a long level stretch and there was no sign of the Indian on the trail ahead, he stopped abruptly. "The devil's vanished," he announced in disgust.

"Maybe he took another path," Hank suggested.

Vernon cuffed him hard. "Fool! There ain't no other path."

"Then he must be traveling much faster than we are," Willis argued. "Come on, let's hurry."

"I'll decide what we'll do!" Vernon didn't waste a second, however, before continuing on down the trail at a near-run. Hank and Willis exchanged a knowing glance before following, and the three men traversed another hundred yards before giving up their pursuit.

"He must have left the trail to hunt," Vernon finally surmised. "We'll have to jump him in camp. After dark there won't be no witnesses, and we can say he came after us."

"Who'd believe that?" Hank asked, and this time he was smart enough to duck out of Vernon's way before he got hit.

"Everyone will believe it!" Vernon insisted. "The word of three white men will be taken over an Indian's, and with any luck, there won't be enough left of the bastard to talk."

Hank and Willis pondered that possibility a moment, and agreed. "Sure. Whatever we say will be believed, but we ought to get our stories straight first, just to make certain we're convincing," Willis suggested.

Vernon herded them back along the trail as he continued to plan. "We'll say he wasn't watching where he was going, and plowed right into us. We backed off, but he came at us again. All we was doing was defending ourselves."

Hunter waited until the three soldiers were within ten feet of him to step out into the path. Startled, they slammed into each other. Tripping over Willis's feet, Hank would have fallen had Vernon not caught him by the scruff of the neck. They had left their muskets in camp, so Hunter wasn't worried about getting shot, but if they wanted a fight, he was ready.

"Did Washington decide I need help to scout?" he asked. "Or are you three just lost?"

Vernon had first planned to overtake Hunter in the woods and beat him senseless before the Indian knew who had hit him, but standing face-to-face with the brave, he lacked the courage to carry out his underhanded plot. He still loathed him though, and tried to make Hunter start the fight he was aching to have. He moved a step ahead of his friends.

"We was looking for you," he said.

"Why?"

"We don't like Indians who think they're better than us!"

Hunter eyed Vernon coldly. This was the first time anyone had come after him after he had put them in their place, but Hunter wasn't surprised that Vernon hadn't learned his lesson in one session. "Can you name a man who doesn't?" he asked.

Outraged by that sarcastic taunt, Vernon nearly strangled on a snarl, but it was Willis who carried him forward as he lunged for Hunter. With the finesse of a matador, the Indian stepped aside, and both Willis and Vernon landed facedown on the dusty trail. Cursing each other they struggled to get up, and when they succeeded, they found Hunter observing them with an amused smile.

"I'm going to kill you!" Vernon shrieked.

"No, you can only try." Hunter appeared relaxed, but he had shifted his weight forward to the balls of his feet, and was ready to block any punch Vernon might throw. He had learned how to fight with his fists at William Johnson's trading post, and he had never been beaten. "There isn't room here on the path. Let's go back to camp and settle our differences there."

Camp was the last place Vernon wished to go. "There's plenty of room for what I want to do to you!"

Hunter motioned for Vernon to come forward. "Show me you can do more than talk."

It was the cool disdain the Indian displayed that sent Vernon into a blind fury. He threw himself at Hunter, and again found his target shifting, while he was in midair. He put out his hands, but still landed so hard he knocked the wind out of himself. He lay gasping on the path and wondering how the Indian had managed to elude him again.

"Coward!" he gasped.

"I'm not the one crawling in the dirt," Hunter pointed out. He nodded toward Willis and Hank. "Carry your friend back to camp, and I'll fight all three of you there." With that he turned his back on them and walked away with a long, confident stride. He had yet to meet a white man who could throw a knife with sufficient accuracy to stab him in the back, so that possibility didn't alarm him. His hearing was as acute as his eyesight, and while he appeared to have forgotten them, he was listening to their every move.

Hank was on the verge of tears. "Get up! Get up!" he cried. Terrified he would have to fight Hunter alone, he yanked on the back of Vernon's shirt.

Willis was too angry to care what happened to Vernon. He'd gone along with him when they were going to jump Hunter together, but he sure as hell didn't want to fight the savage alone. Of the three of them, he might be the tallest and have the longest reach, but that didn't mean he was much of a fighter.

"I never should have let you talk me into this," Willis decried. He stepped over Vernon and started back down the trail toward camp. "Hey, Indian!" he called out.

Hunter glanced over his shoulder.

"I've got no quarrel with you," Willis assured him. "The fight's off, you understand?"

"But why? I'll have to fight three men, and you only one."

Willis shook his head sadly and kept right on walking. "Two men, count me out."

Hunter doubted that he would have to fight anyone. Vernon was right where he had left him, finally on his feet, and simultaneously brushing off his clothes and pushing Hank's hands away. They presented a comical sight, but Hunter didn't discount the danger of anyone that filled with hatred. He now knew Vernon would sneak and hide, hoping to strike back at him from ambush, rather than approaching him directly. If they did fight the French, he was going to make certain he knew where Vernon was, to avoid being shot in the back.

"Hurry up, Vernon," he called to him. "I want this fight over by noon."

A knot of fear-laced anger choked off any response Vernon might have wished to make, and shoving back the last of Hank's attentions he started off down the trail, his fists clenched and his shoulders hunched, as though he were heading into a fierce wind. Muttering curses under his breath to inspire courage, he attempted to convince himself he actually had a chance to beat Hunter in a fair fight.

Willis was the first to emerge from the trail. As he entered the camp, he turned and began to walk backwards, so as not to miss a second of the excitement he was sure was coming. Other soldiers took note, and came forward to surround him. "There's gonna be a fight," he announced with a near-hysteria that some mistook for pride.

Hunter had no sooner set foot in the camp, when men began to shout out their bets. That brought Elliott over, but Hunter had no intention of allowing him to stop what he hoped would be his last confrontation with Vernon. Vernon arrived then, with Hank trailing several paces behind.

"Stay out of this," Hunter asked.

Elliott had already caught the gist of what was about to occur, but he hadn't decided what ought to be done. A lieutenant with minimal military training, he knew the men weren't supposed to fight amongst themselves, but they appeared to be so eager for the contest, he wondered if he ought not to allow it. He was no more impressed with Vernon than Hunter was. In his view Vernon was a bully, who could use a good whipping. When he looked at it that way, the fight seemed like a damned good idea.

"Clear a space!" he shouted, and the troops immediately moved back to form an irregular ring. The men who'd been cleaning their muskets, or were otherwise occupied, came forward now and crowded in behind the first men on the scene. Soon the entire camp was straining to see who would win. That one of the participants was a bully no one admired, and the other an Indian brave whom no one really knew, didn't hamper the crowd's enthusiasm in the slightest. The bloodier the fight, the better, was their only view.