The Bearwalker's Daughter (18 page)

Cold fear twisted Jack’s gut. He looked closely. A black nose the size of a man’s fist protruded through the green haze of a hemlock’s lower boughs. The fisted snout poked all the way through. With an ear-shattering roar, a huge bear charged head and shoulders from the underbrush. Peki danced wildly as the grizzly snarled to hideous life.

Shequenor. It had to be.

He rose up on his hind legs and pawed the hazy air. His malevolent stare fixed on Jack. The force of those eyes was hypnotic. He couldn’t seem to lift a finger. Surely, he would die in those great toothy jaws.

With a high-pitched cry, Peki sprang away into the mist. The bear charged after him, snapping at his heels. Ever closer the incensed grizzly came with the speed of a horse. He gained on them until the stallion had no option but to turn and face his attacker. He reared to his full height, shaking his head, hooves pawing wickedly.

The stalwart horse must wonder why his master was suddenly so ill-equipped to join in the battle. For the first time in his life, not only was Jack not fighting, he tumbled head over heels from the saddle. He, who’d always kept his seat no matter what, felt the air rush from him as he thudded on the ground. If it hadn’t been for the turf softening his fall, he might be out cold. As it was, he lay on his back gasping like a stranded fish.

Peki strove to defend him. Rearing up, he struck at the bear with powerful hooves. He drove him back, but not before Jack heard,
Bring
her to
me,
NiSawsawh
.

A shot exploded behind him. “Jack! You all right?”

He recognized the voice of Thomas McNeal. Karin’s favorite uncle ran up to him and knelt with a smoking musket in hand. Thomas bent over him, consternation crinkling his eyes. “I saw a bloody great bear. Has he clawed you?”

Jack shook his head and groaned. Any cockiness he’d had at his victories today paled in comparison to the force he’d come up against now.

“Shequenor—” he choked out, in the face of Thomas’s open-mouthed stare.

****

“Where’s Jack?” Karin strained to see him in the whooping men bent low over horses galloping back across the field. So many riders. She’d expected him to be out in front. Shock welled in her that he wasn’t. Even more unbelievable, she didn’t see him at all.

Creases knit Sarah’s brow beneath her hood. “I can’t imagine where he’s gotten to.” She brightened and the lines eased. “Joseph’s ahead. A good length in front of the nearest horse.”

The nagging uneasiness that had taken hold of Karin ever since she lost sight of Jack only grew. She’d watched earlier as he crossed the field, swelling with alarm and then with pride as he’d bested that great bully. Had the irate man gotten back at him? Even from here she’d seen the bloodletting when Jack lit into the fellow. He might well be out for revenge.

Karin felt ill. Had Jack been murdered and his body left behind? Surely, Uncle Thomas wouldn’t allow him to be killed. Unless, dreadful thought, he’d been struck down too. But no—there came the reprobate riding his red mount not far behind Joseph. He must have caught back up with the pack, too consumed by the race to linger for foul play.

Blowing horses swept across the browned grass in a thunder of hooves. A host of riders like Pharaoh’s army, and still, no Jack. If he were trying to panic Karin he’d succeeded. If not, he had anyway.

She gripped Sarah’s arm. “Where is he?”

The mature woman shook her head with a shrug, eyes searching the clamoring arrivals. “I’m sure he’s fine, lass, whatever’s kept him.”

Karin wasn’t persuaded.

“Perhaps he took a spill and will come at the end,” his mother suggested.

Jack didn’t strike Karin as the sort of rider to take a tumble easily. He’d stayed on Peki yesterday despite the gyrations the stallion underwent. Man and horse flowed together in one fluid motion. Each with an instinctive understanding of the other, leaving it difficult to say where one began and the other ended.

More breathless riders and mounts slicked with foam, sides heaving, pounded up to the finish line. Jack wasn’t among them. Some horses collided with each other in the jumble, though not hard enough to cause any real injury. Spirits weren’t as high as before the race for the winded losers and few fights broke out. That was more apt to happen later among the contenders after drink restored their vigor.

Grandpa grinned up at Joseph and applauded his grand entrance. “Well done!’

Joseph sat tall on the mare like a conquering hero. He beamed with his split lip and red-striped cheek, battle wounds.

“Your purse! Fairly won.” Grandpa tossed him a small leather pouch jingling with coins. Joseph caught the pouch and waved it aloft.

The welcoming host flocked around him shouting congratulation, his reply lost in the hearty chaos. Two strapping lads unseated him from the horse and straddled him between them on their shoulders.

Jack had helped him win that money. Without his intercession on Joseph’s behalf, the younger man might well be lying bloodied on the grass instead of claiming the prize. Did he spare a thought for his brother?

No. None did, as if Jack had vanished from their minds as well as the field.

Karin could have sworn she heard the report of a musket, but couldn’t be certain in all the uproar. None of the men had carried the heavy weapons into the race. It might be gunfire from a hunter, but trepidation mounted in her all the same.

“I’m going to find out about Jack!” she yelled at his mother over the ear-shattering din.

Sarah laid a hand on her arm. “Wait, lass. See what your grandfather says.”

“He’s too preoccupied to notice his absence. Joseph should know.” Karin tore from Sarah. Jerking up skirts as wine-red as her cloak, she ran toward the victorious young man being borne away by the cheering mob. She pushed at the solid flank ringing him, but folks giddy with racing fever took no notice of her frantic efforts.

“Joseph!” Jumping up and down to glimpse him, she shouted his name from the outer circle. “Joseph!”

Her cries blended with the revelers. He didn’t hear her in the riot. No one did. Apparently they had much celebrating to do at the nearest homestead. No one had marked Jack’s absence except Karin.

His memory burned inside her. Every part of her wanted the handsome frontiersman. She wished her longing for him weren’t quite so overwhelming. She had no idea what to do with the powerful sensations he elicited, but was wild to get him back. If no one would help her, she’d bloody well go and seek him herself.

The meadow stretched before her. It was a long way across the field to where she’d last seen Jack. She’d not get there in a hurry at a brisk walk or even a jog, if she could keep that up. Abandoning any hope of assistance from Joseph, she ran in search of a mount.

Horses stood everywhere, but not many suited her purpose. Those recently returned from the run heaved like bellows. Still others were hitched to wagons, including the McNeal’s pair of matched brown and white beauties. She needed a single mount not yet spent.

Ah
! Uncle Paul had left his bay tethered to a fence post. The gelding snatched at grass.

She ought to gain her uncle’s permission first, but he wasn’t around, must be off with the gathering or Grandpa. Karin would borrow the gelding and return him before he was missed. If not, well, her main thrust was to find Jack. She didn’t dwell on the particulars. Thankfully, the horse was saddled and bridled.

Perfect. She undid the reins from the post. Now for the real challenge. With rock-hard resolve, she scrabbled to fling a leg up over his broad back and heave herself up into the saddle. She’d ride astride and disregard the disapproval that would follow. This wasn’t a ladies’ side saddle; astride was the only feasible way.

“Giddup!” She dug her heels into his sides.

The gelding seemed mildly surprised at being commandeered by her but willing enough to oblige. He took off across the field at a trot. She prodded him into a canter. With all of the revelry and wound licking going on, her retreat went largely unnoticed.

“Faster,” Karin prompted the horse.

Uncle Paul sometimes rode him hard. Though unaccustomed to taking direction from her, the gelding broke into a gallop. His legs reached out, kicking up turf beneath his hooves. Cold wind nipped her cheeks and blew her hood back. Lengths of her hair whipped around her chilled face. She thrilled to the speed while fearing what she might find ahead. The field fell away and she drew nearer to the sycamore.

Apprehension twisted in her middle. Something lay beyond that tree, she just knew. And whatever it was involved Jack, maybe Uncle Thomas too.

As she cantered closer, she noticed a strange vapor lurking back behind the sycamore. None clouded the meadow, yet mist hung heavily beyond the tree like smoke, but no acrid tang tinged the air. The presence of haze back there wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. Fog sometimes clung to the woods and not the meadow, but this seemed somehow insidious.

She slowed the bay to a trot and rounded the ancient sycamore, its grayish-white bark mottled with age. Something was amiss.

The horse nickered uneasily. Karin shared his apprehension. This was no ordinary vapor. A sense of secrets kept, of anger, and longing too vast for words rose in the enveloping air like a scent. And primal danger. Someone, or something, was at hand.

His breath white in the cloudiness, the snorting horse quivered and paced from side to side. He threw back his head and a loud squeal ripped from his throat.

Karin felt rather than saw the dark shape hidden in the trees. But she heard the menacing growl. So did the gelding. He took off into the mist like a shot. The sudden lurch took her unawares and she did what she never did—tumbled helplessly from the saddle.

She landed hard on the ground and struck the back of her head. Stars danced before her eyes. For an instant, she saw a great bear, and then, nothing.

Neetanetha.
My
daughter.

That voice, she knew that voice…in it was the very wind. Vaguely she realized this, but didn’t know where she lay. Nor did she see, only heard Shequenor speaking near her ear as though in a dream. She remembered the night forest and scent of brambles that his low voice stirred. The richness of the deep woods pervaded his presence as if it were him.

You seek my brothe
r
. Anger sharpened his tone.

“Jack,” she whispered.

Why?

What an odd question. “He’s my betrothed.”

Indeed?
A rumble of displeasure followed her disclosure.

“Jack’s a good man,” she murmured.

Self-centered.
Conceited
.

“Then he’s changed.”

A little, perhaps,
he conceded.

“Where am I?”

With
me.
As I wish you to be
. Shequenor spoke as if this were a foregone conclusion.
You
shall
be well.

“What of Jack?”

Safe. For
now
. He seemed annoyed at her question.

A stab of dread twisted in her gut, but she still lay there unable to move. “You would not harm him?”

I
might.

“He is your brother.”

He has betrayed m
e
. Rage simmered in Shequenor’s reply.
What
of
you,
Neetaneth
a
?

“I do not know you.”

You
shall.
Where
is
the
necklace?

“With Jack.”

Why
did
you
entrust
my
gift
to
him?

“Grandpa would never let me keep it. None would, except maybe Neeley. She’s old and wise.”

True
wisdom
is
rar
e
.

“Neeley has it.”

In
your
heart, so
have
you.
Like
your
mother.

At the mention of Mary, Shequenor’s tone took on a softer edge, and then hardened again.
Jack must
learn
or
fall.

Warm breath blew lightly on her cheek and a gentle touch brushed her forehead.

Our
paths
shall cross
again,
Neetanetha.
Tanakia.

Chapter Twelve

The pungent fragrance of dried herbs scented the cozy room as Neeley nodded in her chair by the fireside. The crackle of the wood and welcome heat seeping through her old bones soothed her. The kettle set to boil over the flames promised a cup of tea.
Later
, she thought, slipping further into a peculiar state of unconsciousness.

Her thoughts wandered out the door and she went with them. Possessing freedom of movement unknown to her, she flew over the McNeal homestead like a bird soaring high above the earth, but left no shadow in the fields below.

Instinctively, she knew where she went, to the race course. She saw the track and the colorful assembly collected at the side. She drew closer to the gathering and unlike her usual state, could hear and see perfectly. She smelled the sweat of horses, heard the creak of leather saddles, and jingle of bridles.