Captive (30 page)

“White policy demands that the soldiers do so. You fight with us only when a knife is but inches from your heart!”

“I will not attack plantations!” James responded, reckless, angry. He swept a hand out, indicating the many war chiefs. “I am told about the plight of our children. Women smother their infants so that they do not starve. Soldiers crack in little skulls, horses trample screaming young ones. Well, I promise you this—my white brother will not pick up arms, he will not fight alongside men who injure Seminole children. His one surviving niece is a Seminole child. My
white
sister-in-law once risked her own life for my family. My brother and his wife believe that my daughter who lives with them is innocent, trusting, loving. Beautiful. It is the same for me. My one nephew is white. I will not take part in raids in which white children die, whether from malice or careless accident. I have cradled a white child in my arms. My white brother stayed with my Seminole wife and child as they
died, while others fled the fever. All that I am, all that I will and will not do, I have always stated it honestly. Would you call me a traitor for that?”

Wildcat, despite his occasional outbursts and ferocity, was learning to be a leader. He listened, then replied without haste. “I will not take this time to argue with your convictions, Running Bear.” He slammed his fist suddenly against his chest. “We must fight to survive, to save our way of life. We must fight for our children, for a place for them. For their survival.”

“We fight,” Osceola said firmly, “and we continue fighting. When the soldiers follow us, we split and go in what directions we must go in to avoid them. We have come thus far because they cannot follow us into our secret hammocks. They have not won because we are an enemy capable of fighting and then disappearing. We mustn’t forget that.”

“Sometimes we must talk,” Coweta argued. “Jesup has sent his messengers with great amounts of white cloth so that we may approach his chiefs in safety when we wish to talk.”

Osceola stood up. “At this time we’ve nothing to say. Let General Jesup plan his great campaign. We will watch and wait. And fight on. As for me, when Running Bear comes to me asking that I allow certain women and children to capitulate to terms, I will not turn against those who are desperate now. I remind you, though, Running Bear, that there are those who would slay their families before letting them bow to the white men. Take care with what arrangements you make with the white soldiers—they may turn against you as well. That is all. If you come to me asking to talk to the soldiers, I will talk. But you should know this. I will fight until I can fight no more.”

He wore a blanket that he wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he strode from the circle.

His words had been fierce, James thought. But Osceola still did not look well. In the middle of the summer he clung tightly to the blanket.

The group began to disband. James continued to stare
into the fire, weary of a war that showed no hope for an end, and weary as well of defending himself. At least the other men at this council knew whom they fought. Half the time he fought just to stay sane.

Long legs clad in bright red leggings came to a halt before him. He looked up. Wildcat stood before him, then hunched down.

“We were boys together,” Wildcat said. “Friends a long time.”

James nodded. “I am not your enemy now.”

“Sometimes I am angry because you can see so much. Other times I know that you come to us to offer what wisdom you have when you might have turned your back on the people and lived the life of a white man yourself.”

“I don’t always know my part in this,” James admitted. “I try to make all men see reason. It is a losing battle.”

“No, my friend, you have not lost. Because you still see where you are trying to go.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I am right. But this loneliness is not good for you. Sunflower is now the widow of my cousin, Bird-in-Flight. As her husband’s closest relative, it is my right to release her from her years of mourning. I will do so for you, Running Bear. Bring her the marriage gift. It will be returned, and your nights will not be so bleak in the hard days to come.”

James looked up at Wildcat, who spoke so earnestly now. “Wildcat, I thank you, but—”

“She is very young and very beautiful,” Wildcat said. He sounded indignant.

“Yes, and that is why I would not hurt her. She has suffered enough.”

“There is rumor about you and a white woman. Do you turn Sunflower down because she is not white?” Wildcat demanded, his tone somewhat angry.

James kept his voice level. “You know that is not so. Naomi was Seminole, and I loved her with all my heart and being.”

That seemed to mollify Wildcat, but his curiosity remained. “What about the white woman?”

“What red fool would love a white woman?” James asked, barely masking a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“One with white blood running beneath his red skin,” Wildcat said. “And one who has come close to Warren’s red-haired daughter, a rare beauty of her kind, like an exotic bird among sparrows.”

Startled, James came to his feet, studying Wildcat’s face. “What do you know of her?”

Wildcat smiled. “She is Warren’s daughter. There are certain warriors who will care nothing about beauty or youth or innocence.”

“Tell me, what do you know about Warren’s daughter?” he demanded.

“Her hair is like flame. Gold and red and shimmering in the firelight. Very thick and rich. It’s tempting to the hand to touch, even if she is white. She is slim as the reed in the field, yet with the curves of a woman. Her eyes are a green like the meadow after the rains.”

He had to control his temper and his fear, James thought. It wouldn’t help anyone’s cause if he were to leap at Wildcat and go for his throat.

“Where have you seen her?” he asked firmly. Then, “Damn you, where?”

But Wildcat was determined to taunt him. He started to laugh. “I have described her well. You didn’t know that others among us might know of her?”

“Wildcat—”

“She is lush, yes?”

And James did leap.

He caught Wildcat off guard, caught him with both fury and determination. His leap brought them both plummeting to the ground. Wildcat was no weakling. He bucked and tried to throw James; then the two men rolled together. The contest was in deadly earnest as Wildcat got a grip upon James’s throat. James broke his opponent’s hold and then rolled again. When they came to a halt, James had his thighs like a vise around Wildcat’s.
He slammed a solid fist against Wildcat’s jaw, and was ready to strike again when Alligator suddenly came from the brush, angrily striding toward them.

“The soldiers will kill us soon enough!” he raged. “We do not have the white numbers, we need our warriors alive. The people need you both. Get up, get out of the dirt. You are not boys!”

James and Wildcat both went still, staring at each other. It was true. As children they had tussled. That had been long ago. There was a curious glint of shame in Wildcat’s eyes that surprised James. There was no warrior fiercer than Wildcat. And it was true that many Indians had died at the hands of their own loved ones simply for hungering for survival—and capitulation.

James didn’t want to kill Wildcat, and he was certain that Wildcat didn’t want him dead, either. Pride was tremendous among the Seminoles—as the Indian agent Wiley had learned, dying at the hands of Osceola’s men after having so foolishly humiliated the man.

Now he and Wildcat stared at each other, looking for an honorable way out of their fight.

James leaped from Wildcat, offering a hand to bring him to his feet.

Wildcat accepted his hand and stood up.

“My friend, I should have kept my temper. I beg your pardon. The argument was my fault,” James said.

“I was at fault,” Wildcat corrected. “I tormented my childhood friend.”

“I beg to remain your friend,” James told him.

“And I beg to remain yours,” Wildcat said, and added quickly, “I saw Warren’s daughter at the new fort. I saw her dancing. We thought to attack the fort, but it was too strongly built, and there were too many soldiers. From the trees beyond the clearing, I could see into the hall. She was different from the other women. Radiant with her wild hair and supple energy. She was in silk and lace. She danced with many soldiers. Smiled and laughed. She was very elegant, very beautiful. Very
white
.”

James felt white himself. Drained of all blood.

“It does not matter how beautiful she is, how elegant. She is not the right woman for you,” Wildcat said. “You should consider Sunflower.”

“I would not do Sunflower the injustice of marrying her when my heart is so heavy with so many matters,” James said carefully, diplomatically. It was amazing to him that he could speak at all. It seemed that the whole of his body was tied into knots.

Wildcat nodded at him. “I understand.”

“Sunflower lost a brave warrior who loved her beyond life itself, and she is very young and very beautiful. A warrior who deserves her, and can offer her all of his heart, will come for her soon.”

“Perhaps it is so,” Wildcat agreed. “My heart and my prayers go with you, my friend.”

“And mine with you,” James said. He turned to leave the council fire, certain that he could no longer manage the control to carry on a conversation when it felt as if he had just been ripped to shreds. He simmered with rage he could neither ease nor vent. One that would eventually explode or implode, destroying him either way. What the hell was Teela doing, the little fool? “Running Bear!”

James paused because Wildcat had called to him. As he turned, Wildcat hesitated, then walked firmly to stand before him.

“You are my friend, I understand you. Still, you should know. Even with your power and respect among the people, you do have enemies.”

“All men have enemies,” James said uneasily.

Wildcat’s voice lowered still further, though Alligator was gone and they stood in the darkness alone. “The Mikasuki war chief, Otter, has sworn death to all whites, and that he will do to them what they have done to us. He will watch the soldiers at the fort and see that they are attacked along the trails any time they leave in small groups. He is waiting for Warren to leave; he covets his scalp. He is anxious for Warren’s daughter to leave. He would rather have hers first, to send to Warren.”

James extended a hand to Wildcat. “Thank you.”

“If any of us comes upon the woman, we will take her for you, keep her alive. Even if she is wrong for you, and will bring down greater misery upon us.”

“Thank you,” James told him again.

He turned away. His rage was greater, churning with a fury, enhanced by a deadly fear.

He’d done everything in his power to see that she left the territory! At least at his brother’s house she had been safe. Why had she left Jarrett’s home, come eastward?

Warren
, he thought, and he inwardly raged anew. Warren had come for her. And if Jarrett had refused Warren, he could have brought down the entire might of the army upon himself. He might have even risked Jennifer’s safety, and Jarrett would have known that.

Teela would have known that.

But now, if Teela left the protection of the fort, she could damned well get herself killed.

James wound his fingers into fists, stiffening rigidly with his anguish and fear. By all the damned gods he could pray to, if he got his hands on her, he’d kill her himself. Surely she’d had ample chances to leave the whole theater of war, to sail home, to get out!

He strode to his makeshift shelter for the night and sat beneath its cabbage palm roof, looking up at the half-moon that rode the heavens.

He closed his eyes. She wouldn’t leave the shelter of the fort. She was well aware of just how dangerous her position could be. She knew that Warren was hated, and that the Indians might well know her as Warren’s daughter.

Warren’s daughter …

There was nothing that he could do now. Except watch and wait. And pray.

No.

He crawled out of the shelter, standing. Damn her! He didn’t dare go to her.

But by every god in every heaven, he didn’t dare stay away.

F
ort Deliverance had been kindly named, Teela thought, for there was really very little that the fort could deliver one from.

It was actually one of the depots made quickly and desperately in a chain against the Indians. It had been constructed by Tennessean and Georgian volunteers who had been promised that their stint in the Florida Territory would be over once a few such forts had been erected, and though it was a strong outpost in the wilderness, there were many day-to-day examples to demonstrate just how hastily it had been built.

The roof leaked in Teela’s room. The wind ripped through gaps in the logs. The howling of wolves at night was loud, and seemed dangerously near.

But she did not mind such things so much. She minded the fact that she had come here with Warren, and she minded the horrors that she had seen along the way.

Standing atop the ramparts that ran the entire length of all four sides of the walled structure, Teela looked out over the land. They were thirty miles or so south of St. Augustine, yet they might have been a thousand, for there seemed to be nothing in front of her except strange, waving oceans of deep, rich green. Tall pine trees stretched out far to her north while there was swampland to the south and southwest, and bracken barrens to the east with the Atlantic Ocean not far beyond. There were trails out there somewhere, even a few good government roads. But to anyone walking just beyond the walls of the fort, it seemed that it was either a forbidden
wild land or a very strange paradise, for there was nothing but the green of the foliage, the brown and tan of the earth, the bright blue of the sky, and the occasional deep turquoise of a creek or stream. Sometimes huge oaks shaded narrow trails from the heat of the day; there were exquisite copses where the boughs all seemed to join overhead right where a delightful little stream would tinkle by melodiously.