Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (43 page)

"Run!" he called out to her. "Get away!"

Hunter fought on, despite the agonizing pain in his leg that made it increasingly difficult for him to maintain his balance. Through pure force of will he was relentless in his attack, striking out with a furious determination that forced his opponent to constantly back away. Then, feigning weakness, he lured the man in close, and with a swift upward thrust, drove his knife deep into his chest. His heart pierced, when Hunter withdrew his blade, the Abenaki slumped to the ground dead.

Before Hunter could catch his breath, Alanna shouted a warning, and he turned to find Blind Snake not only on his feet, but again holding his musket trained on Hunter's chest. In the next instant, the sound of gunfire echoed all around, and he looked down, expecting the front of his shirt to be awash in gore, but it was stained only by a small splattering of his foe's blood. It was Alanna who had fired, not Blind Snake, and her aim had been as good as any of the militiamen who had battled the French in the Ohio Valley.

Shuddering with revulsion and disgust, Alanna dropped the musket and came toward Hunter. "You're losing a lot of blood. Sit down, and I'll do what I can for your leg."

Hunter glanced toward the Indian she had stabbed. He had fallen silent, and the utter stillness of his pose proved he no longer clung to life. Hit from close range, Blind Snake would never draw another breath, nor would the man Hunter had fought hand to hand. They had turned an ambush into a stunning rout, but that Alanna could take credit for two of the three kills, robbed Hunter of any sense of satisfaction.

"I told you to run and hide," he scolded, as he sat down not because she had ordered him to, but because he could no longer stand. "I didn't need you."

Alanna had had ample opportunity to observe his pride, but she believed hurting it preferable to watching him get shot or cut into little pieces, or both. "Forgive me, but I need you too badly to watch you die."

Hunter sneered. "I wouldn't have died."

Alanna knelt beside him. "You may die yet. Here, let me help you out of those pants."

"No!"

He recoiled in horror, as though her suggestion had not been the most logical way to approach his wound. "This is no time for modesty, Hunter. I don't usually parade around in my lingerie, but I truly don't think we have any time to lose. The blood pooling on the ground is yours. How much can you have left?"

Hunter was pressing down firmly on the wound in his thigh, and he was confident he could stem the flow of blood soon. "I can take care of myself."

Even with his dark complexion, he was noticeably pale, and Alanna knew that despite his stubborn courage, he was wrong.

"I might as well dig four graves," she predicted darkly. "You already know the sight of blood sickens me, and I'll not watch you bleed to death."

"I won't."

Alanna started to rise, but Hunter reached out to stop her. His hand brushed her arm lightly, and then went limp as he fell unconscious. "Hunter?" she called, hoping he was merely feeling faint, but there was no response. Now that Hunter was unable to object to her help, Alanna loosened his belt and discovered that rather than a single garment, his fringed pants consisted of a breechclout and leggings. She hurriedly removed his moccasins, peeled away the leggings, and refastened his belt to secure the breechclout. Perhaps he had worried she would think his garb strange, but she was relieved he wouldn't be half-naked while she tended him.

In order to see the stab wound more clearly, she carried several handfuls of water to wash the accumulated blood from his thigh. Then, after rinsing off Elliott's knife, she cut a strip of cloth beginning at the ruffled hem of her chemise and winding up a foot to have a sufficient length to bind his leg. She struggled to wrap the cloth tightly enough to stop the flow of blood, but not so securely as to numb his entire leg. She prayed the whole time she worked, and fought the nausea and faintness that threatened to render her unconscious as well.

When she finished, she went to the lake and repeatedly splashed her face, until the water's refreshing coolness had restored whatever calm she had had before they fought the Abenaki. She rinsed the blood from Hunter's leggings, and spread them over the bushes to dry. Then she sat down beside him and took his hand. Only a little blood had seeped through his bandage, and, cheered by that fact, she patted his hand and repeated every encouraging phrase she could remember.

Knowing Hunter had to be even more exhausted than she, when she was convinced he was resting comfortably and in no imminent danger of bleeding to death, she did not try and wake him. Instead, she forced herself to look at the men they had killed. She lacked the strength to dig graves, but the ground had a gentle slope toward a rocky ledge and, after careful consideration, she chose to drag the corpses into the shadow of the ledge, where she could bury them beneath a heap of stones.

The man she had stabbed was lying closest to the ledge, but it took nearly as much courage to grasp his wrists as it had to plunge Elliott's knife into his side. As she toiled to pull him across the rocky soil, she looked back over her shoulder at the ledge. This fellow was the tallest and heaviest of the three, and her arms and shoulders ached with the strain of moving him. She angled his body as she neared the ledge, and then pushed it into place with her foot. She straightened up and tried to breathe deeply, but she couldn't bear to look at the dead man's face, for fear his memory would turn her dreams to nightmares for years to come.

Next came the man Hunter had stabbed. Again she took a firm hold on his wrists and averted her eyes, as she pulled him up beside his slain friend. Like the first Abenaki, he left a gruesome trail of blood, but she stepped over it as she went back for Blind Snake. When she found her revulsion made it impossible to take his hands, she grabbed his ankles and dragged him feet first to his last resting place.

Following Hunter's example, she gathered pine boughs to cover the bodies, and then, using another bough as a broom, swept a layer of the sandy soil over that. Next came the largest rocks she could carry; with the ledge forming the back and partial roof of their tomb, she had built a solid front that completely hid the dead men. It wasn't until she looked back toward Hunter that she noticed she had left some of the Abenakis' things scattered about. She wanted to keep the two extra muskets, and the bow and quiver full of arrows, too. She had also overlooked a decorated bag containing venison jerky, and carried it over to Hunter's side.

Her only remaining task was to erase the bloody trails which led to the mass grave, and the pine branch broom took care of those. Had it not been for the bandage on Hunter's thigh, there would have been no trace of the fight that had nearly cost them their lives. Thoroughly sickened by the work of burying their enemies, Alanna again waded out into the lake and scrubbed herself, her drawers, and her now tattered chemise. Her dress was dry, but she didn't feel like putting it on over wet lingerie. She laid her shawl on the ground next to Hunter, stretched out beside him, and was asleep before she had drawn a breath.

* * *

Hunter was pleasantly surprised merely to awaken, but to find Alanna cuddled against him was almost a delicious enough sensation to block out the pain in his leg. He sat up slightly, and while chagrined to discover his leggings and moccasins were gone, he was far more upset to find she had bound his wound with a lace-edged piece of cloth. He would have shaken her awake to complain, had he not begun to feel faint. Lying back down before he passed out again, he closed his eyes and told himself to be more patient.

He had led an active life, but until that week his injuries had been few. He reached up to trace the still healing cut through his brow, and hoped his looks hadn't been marred too badly. He also hoped the wound in his leg would heal without leaving him with a limp. He had always been strong, and expected his injuries to not only heal rapidly, but also, in the case of his leg, leave no trace of what he had suffered.

He tried to relax and get above the pain that made his whole leg ache, but such a blissful release wasn't easily achieved.

The ground beneath him was not only hard, but rocky and uneven, making it difficult to find a comfortable position. He tried wiggling around a bit, but that sent fierce jolts of pain through his leg, reducing the stones gouging his back to a minor inconvenience.

Seeking to distract himself, he began to stroke Alanna's hair lightly. Falling free, Melissa's hair had formed soft waves, but Alanna's was far more tightly curled. After a brief moment, Hunter decided he liked the golden ringlets that bounced clear to her waist. They were as innocent and dear as she was, and he crimped them through his fingers with increasing delight. When at last Alanna awoke and sat up, he dropped his hand quickly, so she would not be angry with him for fondling her.

"I'm sorry, I just meant to rest a minute, not fall asleep."

Hunter studied her worried frown with deliberate detachment. "I'll forgive you for neglecting me," he began, "if you'll tell me how a girl who was so terrified of Indians last year that she ran from me, found the courage to rush into a fight with three Abenaki braves today."

Alanna could recall the girl who had panicked at the sight of him, but only dimly, as though it were an incident she had read in a novel, rather than something out of her own past. "A great deal has happened this last year, and I'm no longer that terrified girl."

Pleased with the change, Hunter wished with all his heart that he possessed the strength to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but sadly, he did not. Frustrated by his weakness, he took his anger out on her, and gestured toward the bandage on his thigh. "I don't recall giving you permission to steal my leggings and dress me in lace."

"Are you always so ungrateful?"

"Why should I be grateful?"

"Sometimes I don't even know why I bother to talk to you. You can be nice one moment, and so nasty the next, I'm sorry we're even acquainted. I had to sacrifice part of my lingerie, because I didn't have anything else to use as a bandage. Next time you're stabbed, try and have something suitable with you, so you won't insult the person who saves your life with ridiculous complaints!"

Infuriated with him, Alanna got up and walked off into the shady enclosure where she had left her dress. When she didn't return within a few minutes, Hunter began to worry. He called her name, but there was no response. She hadn't left him when their lives were threatened, so he doubted she would leave him now, but he did not enjoy being ignored. He propped himself up on one elbow and, expecting to see the clearing littered with bodies, he was amazed to find the natural setting unspoiled by any such grisly scenes.

"Alanna!" he shouted this time. "Where are the bodies?"

Alanna finished buttoning up her bodice, but didn't bother with her stockings and boots before she reappeared. She walked up to Hunter and, still feeling tired, sat down a few feet away. Because they had only each other for company, and she wanted to get along, she considered his change of subject an apology, and let their argument drop.

"I took care of them." When he looked astonished by that feat, she explained exactly how she had gone about it.

He was relieved the bodies were gone, and didn't comment on the way she had disposed of them, but he was nevertheless amazed that she had been calm enough to be so resourceful. He had not expected such bravery from her. "I still don't understand how you found the courage to risk death by joining my fight, rather than saving yourself. Even after the Abenaki had seen you, you could have gotten away."

Perplexed that he didn't understand her motives, Alanna tried not to insult him with her reply. "I know you and I aren't really friends, but how can you even imagine that I'd abandon you?"

Not as concerned with protecting her feelings as she was with his, Hunter responded with a rueful laugh. "Experience has taught me not to trust white women."

The Sacandaga presented a far more appealing sight than her obstinate companion's sly smirk, and Alanna glanced toward the lake, as she replied, "I didn't confuse you with Blind Snake. Why are you blaming me for Melissa's faults?"

Conceding her point, Hunter nodded. "You are nothing like your cousin, are you?"

"She's dead. Whatever quarrel you had with her is over."

Just talking had again made Hunter feel ill, or perhaps it was the distasteful subject. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.

"Hunter?"

"I'm tired."

"Rest then."

Her voice held the sweet serenity of a benediction encouraging a lengthy nap, and when Hunter next awakened, it was late afternoon. He felt stiff and tried to flex his muscles, only to be rewarded with a fresh burst of pain from his leg. Thirsty, he looked longingly toward the lake, and then called Alanna's name, but produced only a disappointing croak. Fortunately, she had been fishing only a few yards away, and came to his side.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Hunter could not think of the precise words in English to adequately describe how wretched he felt, but that didn't stop him from trying to communicate his distress. "My leg feels like it's on fire. My whole body hurts from sleeping on this pile of rocks, and I'm thirsty."

Thinking his last complaint the easiest to remedy, Alanna brought him water in her cupped hands. He placed his hands beneath hers as he drank, and eagerly gulped down every drop. She made several trips to the river before he kept hold of her hand to keep her with him.