Captive (23 page)

“Some men will fight forever,” Osceola murmured. He stared at James. “And some they will never catch. Some will fall because they will be pushed so hard that they must do so or die. And some will die.” He inhaled and exhaled on a long sigh. “They think that they can do battle, catch me, Alligator, Wildcat, and others, and so end the war. They just don’t see that they fight a hundred enemies.” He looked hard at James. “I have heard that General Jesup is planning a pincer movement against us, much like General Winfield Scott attempted.”

“It would make sense.”

“You heard nothing from your brother?”

“The military is careful with my brother these days.”

Osceola tilted his head, a slight smile hovering on his lips. “Your brother still has not joined them.”

“My brother will not make war on his stepmother’s people. If he was ever attacked, he would defend his wife and child and home. I know of no
mico
who will attack Jarrett. I know of no
mico
Jarrett will attack.”

“I think that I have some information that you do not this time, friend,” Osceola told him, smiling. “When did you last see your brother?”

James frowned, instantly alarmed by the words. It had been nearly two weeks since he had seen Jarrett.

He had followed his brother, Harrington, and Teela
back to Cimarron that day at a careful distance. He had waited, watching as they had met with Warren on the lawn. Crept closer, even more carefully, when they had gone into the house.

With a bit of help from Jeeves, he had even managed to watch much of what had gone on in the dining room.

There had been some argument. Teela had turned to Warren in a fury once, but Jarrett McKenzie, man of manners that he was, had nearly crushed her toes, and she had fallen silent.

Young Harrington had played his role to perfection— the delighted young man determined to secure the life and safety of his future wife. He was unbelievably convincing, but then, he probably told no lies. Jarrett held his temper. Tara was charming, and Teela was silent.

Miraculously, in the upshot Teela was for the time to remain at Cimarron.

James had never announced his presence that night. He had found his brother alone in the library later to let him know that he was aware of the way things had gone. He said good-bye again, slipped into Jennifer’s room and said good-bye to his daughter, then slid back into the woods.

It had been late by then. By the soft glow of candlelight from the house, he had seen Teela come to the balcony of her room, dressed in white.

The temptation to run back burned within him, an agony that surely surpassed all the fires of hell.

But he had already said good-bye to her. He told her that she should consider John Harrington as a husband. There were still a number of soldiers near and on the property. He wasn’t afraid of meeting one; he was afraid of bringing the war to his brother’s house.

Most of all, he didn’t think that he could hold her and walk away again. There was no choice for him but to leave. So he watched her in the soft glow of light. Watched it touch the red of her hair, so deep at night. Watched the beauty of her face and form, hidden yet enhanced by the flowing white gown. For a moment he
thought that he would die right there. Everything within his being tightened and constricted, breath seemed to stop, heart failed to beat. But he was painfully alive, and he had turned at last and ridden away.

“What has happened to my brother?” he demanded of Osceola hoarsely.

“Nothing has happened to Jarrett McKenzie, his wife, or child. You are just behind in some of your information. Your fine General Jesup wrote to the war chief, a man named Poinsett, for the new white president. Jesup asked that we be left alone in the swamplands to the south.”

“Yes, I was aware of that,” James murmured.

“He got his answer,” Osceola said. “We must be forced west. If they were to leave us be, the Cherokees on their sad journey west might protest. Others might take up arms again. That is what the white man Poinsett thinks. The war will go on.”

“Had you ever really thought otherwise?”

Osceola arched a dark brow to him. “We live with hope, we fight with hope. What white man seeks to make his home in the wretched, infested swampland where they force us to run and fight, eh, my friend?” James shrugged wearily. The war would go on. “There has been action not so very far from your brother’s house, and many of our men are now in the detention center at Tampa. The whites have taken our Wildcat, Coacoochee, son of Philip. Alligator is now a prisoner. They seek to take others.”

“They are learning,” James said. “They are beginning to realize that no one man may speak for all among the Seminole Indians. They are trying very hard to round up the chiefs.”

“They threaten to hang Seminoles when they are captured if they will not lead the military to the strongholds of others. They use any treachery.”

James tried to phrase his words carefully. “You must understand that they sometimes feel the Seminoles have
been treacherous as well. In March, many signed the peace agreement—”

“The whites did not keep that treaty, either.”

“But they feel that the chiefs came in and accepted food, then reneged on their word.”

“They have stolen our food, our land, our cattle. We have managed to have a few meals at their expense.”

James wasn’t sure how to explain that such actions would only allow the whites to be treacherous in return. “It is just that in the future, Osceola, you must take care that the whites do not feel they are not obliged to be truthful.”

“They have never felt so obliged.”

There was little argument James could give him.

“Are you with me, Running Bear?”

“With you?” James said, frowning.

“No, you cannot be with me,” Osceola said softly. He shook his head, smiling. “My heart often bleeds for you, my young friend. You are so split. You are in horror often of the things I have done, or the things done in my name. Yes, Seminoles have raided white plantations. Women have died, sometimes children die. In days past we took captives. We brought children and women to live among us, to join us. The small sons of our white enemies sometimes grew to be fine warriors. The daughters grew with us to become good wives and mothers. Now … we live nowhere. Now we are furious and bitter. We have never fought such a battle for survival. So women and children die. Just like our children die. I have never seen anything more evil than a soldier intent upon the death of a child and the saving of a bullet all in one! The soldiers crack our infants’ heads against trees as if they were coconuts.”

James stared downward at his hands. They were clenched together tightly, the knuckles white. Yes, such things happened. Jesup, who fought the Indians with a vengeance, often grew weary of his own fight, of the slaughter. James was aware that Jesup had really wanted
it to end; he had earnestly hoped Poinsett would allow him to leave the Indians in the south of the peninsula.

But then there were men like Michael Warren. Perhaps none quite as savage as he. No man was more guilty of outrage and cruelty than Michael Warren.

Osceola leaned forward over the fire. His now lean but still striking features were highlighted in the orange of the blaze.

“Think of your daughter, Running Bear. Think of her youth, her beauty, her innocence, shattered.”

“My daughter is safe with my brother.”

Osceola nodded. He had never desired war with Jarrett McKenzie. Jarrett understood the Indians more than most white men could; he had grown up among them. He had been given an Indian child’s name, and he had taken the black drink and received his adult name, White Tiger, as well.

“Your brother would die for your child, which is the most any man can do. Jennifer will survive the white man, that much is certain, perhaps when we are all dead, my friend. But as for my children, for the other children …”

“I know what is suffered!” James assured him tensely.

Osceola stood. “Wait before bringing in your women, children, and orphans, Running Bear. I am going to release some of our people who should not be confined. I know that you cannot come with me and attack the detention center at Tampa Bay. I know, too, that you cannot, will not, betray my cause. When I have released the warriors, then you may bring in the children. Wait a few more weeks.”

“Teela!”

She sat on the slight hill that crested the lawn of Cimarron where it sloped between the river and the woods. Jennifer was before her, the baby, Ian, at her side, as she brushed out the thick, luxurious skeins of Jennifer’s hair. She looked up at the sound of her name, somewhat dismayed to see that it was John Harrington, his broad
smile in place, who hurried toward her from a ship berthed at the Cimarron river dock.

She did like him. She liked him very much. In all her life probably no one had ever been kinder to her. That was why it was so hard to feel that she was hurting him. She knew that he cared about her, and she knew that she could not give back the intensity of affection he offered. He was a good friend; she wanted to be a good friend in return. He was also a pleasure to be with, intelligent, fun, quick to laugh, slow to judge. If only she didn’t feel quite so guilty …

John had announced their engagement to Michael Warren when they reached Cimarron that night, which seemed like a million years ago now. He had been so boisterous and filled with enthusiasm and plans—and determination—that Michael had been drawn right along.

John also carried their military orders, and any mention of Teela leaving the safety of Cimarron caused him to visibly cringe and insist that he must feel that his future bride would be far from the danger they fought.

Tara, whom Teela had learned had come from a theatrical background, assured Teela that she had seldom seen such an excellent performance on any stage.

Tara, of course, watched her strangely now at times, and Teela was certain that Jarrett had explained to his wife just exactly in what disarray he had found Teela and James. She hadn’t asked Teela any questions, a fact for which Teela was glad. She didn’t really have any answers—she didn’t know quite what to say—and she still hadn’t unscrambled her own very complicated feelings regarding the whole matter. She knew she couldn’t honor any engagement she and John pretended to make; she didn’t love John.

She didn’t know quite what she felt for James. She mocked herself constantly, demanding to know in her heart if she was willing to cast aside all comfort, her known world, and follow him into the bush.

If he would allow her to do so, which he certainly would not.

And if she was to do so, Warren would surely have a massive bounty on his head.

There was nowhere to go … and she tried to tell herself that it did not matter. James had felt an attraction to her, nothing more. He was dedicated to his own way of life and his fight, and he didn’t want her as any part of either. He was gone; he was not there for her to see, to want, to long to be close to, to touch. But it didn’t matter. He filled her mind, in her dreams when she slept, in her thoughts with every haunting, waking moment. She realized that she was living to wait, and that all she waited for was a chance to see him again. She was afraid to define her feelings. She knew only that she ached for him, and that any other man would pale in comparison to him, the sight of him, feel of him, scent of him. His passion was fire, and she could never accept anything less.

Maybe that was love …

Whatever, it made her feel guilty to see John Harrington again, no matter how much she enjoyed his company.

“It’s John,” she said cheerfully to Jennifer, rising and reaching for the baby’s basket. But John swept up the basket as he greeted her with a pristine kiss to the cheek. “And you, Miss Jennifer McKenzie!” he said, greeting the child. “How do you do?”

Jennifer smiled, her charming little dimples deepening. She executed a perfect little curtsy in return. “I do well, Lieutenant Harrington. Very well, thank you.”

“Ah, that I am glad to hear!” he said. “Would you be so good as to run along and find your aunt Tara and beg her to allow a weary soldier to join you for supper?”

Jennifer blushed happily, then nodded, and ran off to do as she was bidden.

Teela stared at John, certain that he had purposely sent the child rushing on ahead so that they could talk alone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him worriedly.

“Nothing that terrible,” John assured her quickly, carrying
the basket with Ian as they started toward the house. “I just wanted you to be forewarned.”

Her heart quickened. “About what?”

“There were a number of Seminoles being held at a detention camp in Tampa. And among them many of the war chiefs. Osceola and some of the other braves came and rescued their fellows. Perhaps some seven hundred Indians in all escaped.”

“So the war goes on and on!” Teela murmured. She stopped walking because John was staring at her. “There’s more?”

He shrugged unhappily. “There’s a rumor that James McKenzie was among the warriors who caused the escape.”

“I don’t believe it,” Teela said stiffly. “He would not put himself or his brother into such jeopardy—”

“I don’t believe it, either. James has tried very hard never to attack the whites; he has fought but only when attacked. His value among his people and the whites has always been in his ability to reason when all else has failed, to mediate when the lives of hostages were at stake. He has always been trusted by both sides.” He hesitated. “Teela, there’s another rumor out there as well. There’s talk that he abducted you, and that you and I both deny it because we are a pair of pathetic sympathizers who refuse to see the complete Indian menace.”

“Oh, God!” Teela whispered miserably. “Had I but imagined that I might give Michael Warren such a fine excuse to do his wretched evil that day, I’d have never run!”

“Don’t take it upon yourself!” he warned her kindly. “James would not want you to do so; he would gladly risk himself to save you from harm.”

“My harm would not have been so great. And John, I am heartily sorry for what I am doing to you as well—”