Through the Fire (The Native American Warrior Series) (4 page)

Chapter
Three

Mindful of the lingering ache at the back of her head, Rebecca rolled over drowsily and blinked at the coals still glowing in the blackened campfire. Her first thoughts were of Kate with prayers for her safety; then she turned her mind to Shoka. Vague images returned of him carrying her here in the night. She
’d roused once to see him brooding beside the flames before she succumbed again to oblivion.

Memories of the evening were little more now than faintly recalled sensations. Bit by bit she remembered the infuriating exchange with her captor. Yet, he
’d also been gentle at times, even tender. Had that only been a ploy to win her trust, or something more?

A softer emotion stirred inside her, teasing the corners of her mind. Had grief for John addled her brains? She was allowing herself to be carried away by the exotic. No matter how striking Shoka was, she couldn
’t for one moment allow herself to forget he was a warrior and seemed determined to sell her. Suffering another to dictate her fate went against her obstinate independence. But what was she to do?

First, get her bearings, a difficult thing to do in the woods. Finches chattered overhead, and green gold light filtered through the boughs. Morning, she guessed, though she couldn
’t tell how advanced.

Every muscle ached as she pushed herself up and surveyed the camp. To her relief, most of the warriors gathered here the evening before were gone. Only a small contingent remained; some nursed wounds they
’d received. Blankets, pots, and cups strewn about the site suggested the larger party would return, though possibly not for hours.

The sound of voices drifted to her. After a moment, she detected the low thread that was Shoka
’s. Through the leaves, she spotted him at the far end of camp speaking with two men seated at the base of a tree. Neither were warriors. Both were bound at the wrists and ankles. She strained to see.

“
Lieutenant McClure,” she whispered in relief. She hadn’t actually seen him fall in the bloody attack, just assumed he lay among the dead.

Shoka hadn
’t said a word about any soldiers taken captive. The prisoners could do nothing for her, though, or she for them unless she sought help. At least she wasn’t tied up. Would she be bound when she’d regained her strength?

Quite possibly. An unbearable thought.

She should get away while there were few to guard her. Still, it only took one. Shoka would foil any attempt she made to flee—

A hand on her shoulder splintered her scheming thoughts. She flinched and looked up into the friendly face of the young brave who
’d brought her meat the evening before.

Smiling reassuringly, he held out a large piece of bark stacked with venison.
“Eat, lady.”

Cold game was far from her usual breakfast fare, but this might be the last food she
’d have for some time. Nodding her appreciation, she lifted a slice from the improvised platter and chewed while the young man watched, his eyes on her every move. The meat was flat and flavorless this morning. Even so, it would strengthen her, and she needed all the vigor she could muster.

Urging her to take more, he extended the venison again.

She forced down another piece and stopped. An unsettled stomach could only hold so much. “Thank you, no.”

He stepped over to what looked like a birch tree and broke off a twig. He darted back to hand it to her.
“For your teeth.”

She nibbled on the unlikely toothbrush then chewed with more relish as it released a minty wintergreen flavor.

“You like?” He sat beside her.             

“
Very much. Meshewa?”

He nodded, obviously pleased by her mastery of his name.
“Rebecca Ell-iot?”

Shoka must have told him.
“Just call me Becca,’” she said. “How old are you?”

“
I see eighteen harvest moons.”

“
Eighteen. The same age as my sister.” And he appeared as completely without guile as Kate.

“
She is woman who stays on the fast horse?” he asked.

Rebecca winced at the cutting pain of the memory.
“Yes.”

Meshewa crinkled hazel eyes in concern.
“You fall hard. Better, now?”

“
A bit,” she said, a plan of escape taking shape in her mind. She’d been praised for her keen wits; now was the time to use them. But she must act quickly before Shoka came.

“
How many harvest moons do you see, Becca?”

“
Twenty.”

“
You look more. Such beauty you have,” he hastened to add, as if fearful of having insulted her.

He was engagingly sweet, surprising in a warrior. If she weren
’t so desperate, she might enjoy sitting here speaking with him. Unlike Shoka, he hadn’t yet schooled himself to guard his emotions.

“
You are kind. Meshewa, may I go to the water?”

“
Alone?” A shade came over his eyes. He shook his head.

He wasn
’t quite as gullible as she’d hoped. Another idea occurred to her that would suit this seemingly naive youth perfectly. It smacked of dishonor, but she was in no position to stand on scruples. She fixed him with a pleading look that had softened far harder hearts than his. “Will you take me?”

He blinked.
“Shoka come soon. He take you.”

“
Must we wait? Please, I’d rather go with you.”

Meshewa wavered and then stood. He gestured.
“We go.”

She rose stiffly and walked down the bank beside him. Dainty meadow rue and tiny gold daisies no bigger than her thumb bloomed amid the fern. He reached out his hand to steady her when she stumbled on a stone hidden in the green fronds and helped her down to the stream. His sympathy made what she meant to do more difficult, somehow. He stood behind her while she knelt at the edge and cupped palms full of the icy water to her lips. The morning chill hadn
’t dissipated, making her sketchy plan even less practicable.

Plotting this escape was far different than beating a hasty retreat from a ball when hounded by an amorous suitor. Ever the schemer, she took careful note of her surroundings. The stream spilled over steps of rocks as it rushed downhill, then slowed to collect in a deep pool between some large stones before breaking through again on its way east. Scaling the stones would present a challenge with her sore muscles and light-headedness.

There! She spotted one whose flat surface would provide easy access to the water. To her advantage, the pool wasn’t particularly wide. She could swim, having learned from a childhood friend, which was unusual for a lady. She was by no means a strong swimmer, but this distance was manageable, especially if she lightened her heavy skirts.

Should she take the risk? This might be her single opportunity to escape. Fear of being caught churned alongside an unreasonable reluctance to go. If that odd sensation had anything to do with Shoka, she
’d shake it off.

Whatever peculiar notion Rebecca had taken in her muddled head over him must stem from the blow she
’d suffered. There was nothing for it, but to go. Now.

Hiding jittery nerves behind what she hoped was a casual facade, she stood.
“Meshewa, I would like to bathe.”

He gave an uncertain nod. His brows arched as she unfastened the embroidered stomacher attached to either side of her bodice with hooks hidden beneath bands of robing covered in ruched lace.

She had his attention. Next, she’d utterly disarm him. The V-shaped insert undone, she stepped out of the blue linen gown clothed in a tight corset and two petticoats, the outer one embellished in knots and roses. Beneath these, she wore a shift with sleeves cut just below her elbows. The ruffled hem fell to mid-calf. She untied the drawstrings at her waist and let the petticoats slip to her ankles in a lacy heap.

Meshewa responded exactly as she
’d anticipated he would to this partially clad Englishwoman, with open-mouthed shock, even shying back to give her more room. Perfect. Her plan depended on offending the modesty she thought she’d detected in him by behaving as though she had none.

Reaching behind her back, she pretended to unlace her corset. He turned his head. Many men she
’d known would gladly watch her undress, even lend a hand, but she had guessed rightly about this youth. By the time he looked around, she’d be gone.

She hurried silently over the stones scattered at water
’s edge and climbed over the large flat one. She slipped into the frigid water, stifling a gasp. The cold wasn’t her only hardship. Her leather shoes dragged at her feet, and the shift clung awkwardly, but desperation goaded her swiftly across. The tumble of water helped muffle her stealthy scramble up the bank. Keeping low, she crept through thick fern.

Still no alarm came from Meshewa. If she followed the stream, it should lead her out of the mountains and back toward the more settled Shenandoah Valley. She didn
’t know how long a journey she was undertaking only that she must escape the warrior camp and Shoka. Especially him. Like fire and earth, he was a force of intense presence, his draw on her disquieting.

He
’s your enemy, she reminded herself.

Once out of earshot, she caught up her binding shift and fled, shaking with cold. The deep woods scent filled her nose as she ran, each breath rasping in and out of her throat, her chest burning, legs aching. Rapid flight gradually warmed her, but briars snagged her hair and tore at her shift. Rocks littered the trail, turning every step into a potential wrenched ankle. Fallen limbs, even entire trunks, blocked her way and had to be scrambled over or gotten around.

Sucking in ragged gasps of air, she snagged her foot on a root and sprawled onto her knees with a strangled cry. She was only bruised, but tears threatened again and pounding filled her chest. Yesterday’s injury had taken too much from her and she was totally out of her element. None of the strategies from her former life mattered in this wild place. The rules were different here, and she did not know them.

She lay on the trail in despair. Her chest and sides heaved against the boned corset with each constricted breath. How long until someone overtook her? Likely Meshewa had feared her drowned and lengthened her lead by taking the time to search the pool. Then he would pursue her or alert Shoka.

At that thought, she forced herself back to her feet and staggered on. Exhaustion soon ate away the edge anxiety had given her, nor was fear sufficient to compel her shaky legs forward. Her body screamed to stop. Thirsty again, she reeled down the bank to the stream, casting about desperately for solutions while gulping down more water.

If she couldn
’t go on, she must hide and resume her flight later. But where? A large hollow darkened the base of an oak a few steps up from the water—no, bugs and hairy spiders might lurk there. She spied a flat stone wide enough to huddle on and surrounded on three sides with leafy cover. The branches curving above it formed a sort of tent. Like a child’s secret place, it would conceal her.

She crawled inside, curling miserably into a ball. Sunlight couldn
’t penetrate her green enclosure, and she shivered in her damp shift. She’d surely freeze tonight.

The temptation rose in her to give up and sun on a warm stone until her recapture, but she wasn
’t one to concede defeat. Nor did she care to discover what grisly punishment was dealt out to runaways.

Would Shoka be brutal? He couldn
’t torture or kill her if he hoped to sell her for a goodly sum. But he might be too angry to consider the coins she’d fetch him.

Bleak thoughts make poor bed fellows. Though bone-weary, Rebecca dozed only fitfully, waking to an ominous rattling noise. She sat bolt upright. A great snake lay coiled just outside her shaded enclosure, its body as thick as her arm. Glittering eyes stared into her lair. Or was it his?

Abandoning all hope of remaining undetected, she scrambled shrieking to the back of her hideout.

Chap
ter Four

A woman
’s frantic screams tore through the forest above the swiftly flowing water. Rebecca! Shoka jerked from the footprints he’d bent over. What now?

She
’d left a trail of broken twigs, strands of gold hair caught on branches, and indentations in the spongy earth that any fool could follow. She had no more knowledge how to survive in these harsh mountains than a child. Incensed by her outrageous escape and the accompanying stab of dread for her welfare, he sprinted toward her cries, hoping he wasn’t too late and cursing himself for caring.

He spotted her leafy hideout. The source of her terror lay coiled just outside the only entrance, an enormous rattlesnake. A chill seized him. It was uncoiling.

“Rebecca. Be still.”

The tomahawk he threw on the tail of his warning sliced through the air in calculated revolutions and thunked down, severing the snake
’s head. He tossed the writhing form aside and kicked the loathsome head out of the way then peered inside her shelter. She crouched in the shadows, awash in streaming hair and seemingly unharmed.

Relief at her narrow escape only heightened his anger. Tight-lipped, he beckoned to her.
“Come out.”

She crawled shakily to him and lifted wide eyes fringed with brown lashes.
“Is it truly gone?”

Shoka gave a terse nod. Viewing her exquisite face in full daylight set an unwanted drum pounding in his gut. He looked into eyes that weren
’t merely one shade of blue, but an intriguing blend of water, sky, and the fairest blossoms. Her smooth brow was finely carved, as were her nose and cheeks, and fit perfectly with her full, but not too full, mouth, blushed like a rosy sunset. Her sweetly curved chin wholly balanced her other features. Even in her fear it had a stubborn tilt and a dimple.

His manhood swelled hotly. He was more undone in that instant than if he
’d faced the most cunning warrior. And it occurred to him, rather strongly, that he’d far rather do battle with a stealthy foe than his own heart.

Seemingly unaware of the debilitating effect she had on him, Rebecca stuttered,
“What serpent was that?”

“
Shebinsee manetoh
, rattlesnake,” he said, dragging his stare away from her. Seizing the tomahawk, he wiped the soiled blade on a patch of grass.

He couldn
’t keep his eyes from following as she got unsteadily to her feet. The damp shift clung to every curve. She was slender and taller than average for a woman, though still a head, or more, shorter than he and would fit nicely against him, he thought, hating that he did.

She pushed that wealth of hair back over the inviting smoothness of partly bared shoulders. He swept his rapt gaze over the creamy mounds swelling up out of her bodice. A red haze of anger and need clouded his mind.

Her eyes scoured the dense foliage. “Are many of these dreadful creatures about?”

“
We must watch.”

“
Oh my. What if it had bitten me?”

Were there no venomous snakes in England?
He slung the tomahawk at his back beneath his belt and regarded her sternly. “Its fangs have much poison. One bite from a serpent of this size and you would die slowly in great pain. Unless I found you, gave you medicine. Do you wish for this death?”

She shook her head, appearing far more subdued than the woman who had dared to challenge him last evening.

“Other dangers lie in the wilderness, the wolf, bear, devil cat,” he added pointedly. “You cannot be certain what, or who, follows you.”

“
What a fearful land.”

“
You know nothing of this land. You forget I said not to run from me?”

Eyes downcast, she whispered,
“No.”

“
Where is your gown? Did thorns tear the cloth from you?” he demanded, wanting to rip off all that remained.

She jerked up her head.
“You know very well where my clothes are.”

He raked his gaze over her in disgust, despising how fervently he wanted her.
“Cunning fox. You made Meshewa ashamed to look.”

“
I could think of no other means to escape.”

“
Have you no shame?”

Sparks flared in her vivid gaze, melding fire with the blue.
“I’m not proud of what I did.”

“
Why do it? Did I threaten you with death?”

She frowned.
“Worse. I’ll not be mistress to a Frenchman.”

He scowled back.
“You must have been mistress to many Englishmen.”

“
How dare you!” She swung her hand and smacked the side of his face so hard it stung.

He caught her arm where the sleeve of her shift had fallen back.
“I say it’s the truth.”

“
It most certainly is not.”

He liked the feel of her smooth skin but had little time to relish the sensation. She kicked her foot out behind his leg and jerked forward, throwing him slightly off balance. The instant he faltered, she broke free.

What a hellion. The English expression sprang readily to his mind as he slipped the musket and shot pouch from his bare shoulders to the ground. “You wish to fight me?” He beckoned with his fingers. “Come, then.”

She flew at his invitation with the fury of a baited bear, slamming her fists up under his chin. She whirled away.

“Fast,” he conceded. “Yet, not fast enough.”

He lunged at her retreating figure and threw his arms around her from behind. Wrapping her waist with one arm, he circled the other below her delightfully rounded chest. He pinned her arms as she twisted in his grasp and kicked against his legs and ankles, and simply restrained her, enjoying it all the while.

“What if I fight back?” he asked against the nape of her neck.

She stilled, panting.
“I’ll lose.”

“
Swiftly.” He whipped her around so that he held her just as he wanted, the feel of her maddeningly desirable. “Perhaps I will think of something better. Something you know well.” His voice had gone husky.

“
I do not!” She grabbed for the pistol.

He snapped his fingers around her slender wrist.
“To regain your pistol you must be as swift as the hawk.”

She stomped on his moccasin.
“Was that swift enough?”

He almost laughed as he shoved her foot aside. He held her immobile.
“You cannot prevail against me, Peshewa.”

Lifting her chin, she stared up at him with those scorching eyes.

He looked hard into her unbridled defiance then bent his head and took her mouth in a heated kiss so urgent it was nearly fierce. Fire flared in him at the feel of her supple lips. The intensity was almost beyond bearing.

For a searing second her mouth parted under his, and it seemed she just might surrender without a fight. Then she thrust her leg behind his, jerking it forward more forcefully.

Vixen. She’d overshot her mark and unsettled them both.

He lurched toward her, bearing her down to the grass. She crumpled beneath him. Air rushed out from her lungs as he landed atop her enticing curves.

She gasped, “Is it your way to force a helpless woman?”

“
Helpless?” he echoed in exasperation, as frenzied with lust as a raging stallion. He lightened his weight to spare her already bruised body and pinned her thrashing arms over her head. “You are like no other woman.”

Fear flickered in her eyes.
“Don’t hurt me, Shoka.”

“
Stop resisting. I will do nothing you are not used to, Peshewa.”

She glared at him.
“How do you know what I’m used to?”

He pressed his lips over the delectable curve of her neck. Men had died for far less than this sweetness.
“I have thoughts,” he said, his mouth against her skin. He felt her shiver at his touch, an involuntary response not lost on him.

She fought to tear away.
“I am not as you think.”

“
No?” Clipping her wrists in one hand, he slid his other up her side over her shift to her breasts—stopping when he encountered the stiffened bodice. “What is this thing?”

“
My corset.”

He drew his knife.
“I will cut it from you.”

At this threat, she grew frantic.
“Undo the laces. ’Tis simply done.”

Sunlight glinted on the blade. Why should he indulge such a shameless woman?
“Cutting is simpler.”

Tears sprang into her eyes.
“Don’t. Please.”

“
You weep for this?”

She blinked moist lashes.
“And for my honor.”

Snorting, he sheathed the blade.
“Stop fighting me.”

She lay trembling as he rolled her over. Had he fully intimidated her? He
’d expected to wrestle a devil cat.

With innate wariness, he brushed aside her wealth of hair and undid the laces. He peeled off the ridiculous garment, finding it heavier than he
’d expected. It must be lined with lead, he thought, and pitched the cumbersome thing to the fern.

The sight of Rebecca wearing only that clinging shift sped his already runaway desire. He tugged the drawstring at her neck and slipped the underdress down over her tempting shoulders, kissing her soft skin above the diminishing cloth. His conscience chided him. He shouldn
’t take advantage of her this way, but she’d provoked him beyond endurance.

“
I will be gentle, beautiful Rebecca,” he whispered, then stopped as though from a forceful punch to the jaw.

Breathing in sharply, he surveyed the ugly scars crisscrossing the milky surface of her back. After a stunned moment, he nudged the shift lower and traced his fingers over the grim handiwork. Who would defile such perfection?

Someone had. More than once. Likely a stout man with a rod.

For a time, he said nothing. Then he found his tongue.
“Who gave you this punishment?”

“
Papa.”

Shoka listened in outraged disbelief. How dare any man do this to his own flesh and blood? He steadied his voice.
“Is there more?”

“
On my thighs.”

Clutching the shift to her chest, she turned toward him. And he knew he
’d seen exactly what she wanted him to.

“
Why such cruelty?” he ground out. “Shawnee do not beat their children.”

Her eyes glinted with the hurt that had marred her back.
“Drink made Papa crazy.”

“
Warriors, too, sometimes. Still, I would like to give your father back stripe for stripe what he gave you.”

She gaped at him.
“I wish you’d give Papa the thrashing of his life. But I don’t expect you will turn up in London.”

Shoka smiled faintly.
“The English need no guide there.”

“
I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Her stiff posture relaxed a little. He curled his fingers at her chin and tilted her face to inspect every inch. Dropping his eyes, he ran them over her shoulders and the tops of her breasts, hesitant to ask the next question.
“Did your father harm you in other ways?”

She shook her head.

Undeniable relief welled in him. “What of your sister?”

“
Never.” Clenching her fingers, Rebecca kept the shift in place with fisted hands. “When Papa was in a rage, I told Kate to run and hide. I got between them.”

“
You took the beatings for her?” Shoka gave a low whistle. “You have much courage, Rebecca Elliot.”

“
No. I was always afraid.”

“
Courage is not how you feel. It’s what you do.”

“
Then I should get a damn medal,” she muttered. “Like a good soldier.”

“
You swear like one.”

“
You have my father to thank for that.”

The anger flaring in her eyes dwindled, and then in a more uncertain voice, she asked,
“What will you do with me now?”

He trailed his fingers through her hair, pausing at her low neckline. His heart doubled its beat as he slid the tip of his finger over her breasts pushing up above the ruffled linen.
“I would very much like to take this from you. Yet, I will not.”

His need, as tangible as pulsing energy, seemed to flow into her. Did he feel her warming to him?

Taking a tremulous breath, she whispered, “Shoka?”

He searched the question in her face, noting the quiver at her lips. Did she want more from him, or far, far less?

Stop!
He ordered himself. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, do this.