Cherokee Storm (8 page)

As for herself, Shannon wasn't looking to be a wife, at least not anytime in the near future. She'd been a servant for so long that it pleased her to be beholden to no man—other than the respect and duty she owed her father. She beat the eggs harder.

Drake was a handsome man, decent, and hardworking. A woman could do a lot worse. Other than having a hot temper, being somewhat of a braggart, and having no understanding of the Indians, Drake had no real fault in him that Shannon could find. He'd make Alice Clayton a good husband.

But not her. At least, she didn't think so.

Shannon's years working as a barmaid had given her a distrust of men. Most men, married or not, fathers or not, were always on the lookout for an easy roll in the hay with whatever woman they could catch. And most men were all too quick to tell a wife to hold her tongue or mind her children. She had opinions, and she would be hard-pressed to keep from speaking up for herself. Even Oona, who seemed smart enough, was quick to jump when Shannon's father asked for something. And Oona never contradicted him. That kind of wife Shannon knew she could never be.

As she assembled the meal, she listened to what Drake and Flynn said, but she didn't directly enter the conversation. She kept expecting Oona to join them, but she didn't, and Flynn made no mention of her absence. Shannon wondered if it was the Clarks he was hiding Oona from.

“You keep a sharp eye out for hostiles,” Drake said as Shannon slid the hot pan of corn bread on the serving platter. “You 'member those trappers we met on the trail?” He glanced at Shannon. “Ones said their mounts was stolen?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “I do.” She ladled out bowls of stew to each man. Drake's hand clamped down on hers, pinning it to the table.

“Amos Tyler, he come out from Virginia with four wagons three days behind us. Found what was left of them. Dead as dead can be. Scalped.”

She pulled her hand free.

“Not ten miles from where they left us,” he continued. His gaze challenged her as he stuffed a chunk of corn bread in his mouth and chewed steadily.

“Bad luck,” her father said. He tasted the stew. “Good. You added something, didn't you?”

She nodded, unable to find words. The trappers dead. Scalped. Had Storm Dancer killed them? Cold dread seized her. Was she a fool to think she was safe with Storm Dancer because they'd been friends as children?

“That renegade did it, certain,” Drake said. “Murderin' bastard. We should have finished him when we had the chance.”

You tried,
Shannon thought.
But Storm Dancer outfoxed you and your brother.
“You don't know it was him,” she said.

“Who else?” Drake asked. “Plain as plain can be. If Pa hadn't stopped us from goin' after him, this would be over and those trappers would be alive today.”

“He's smart, your father,” Da said. “Not much chance of catching a Cherokee in these mountains. And there's no way of tellin' who killed those men. Could have been allies of the French or other trappers.”

Drake shook his head. “White men don't scalp.”

“Don't be so sure,” Flynn replied. “Who do you think taught the Indians the custom? Heard it all started during King Philip's War, up Massachusetts way.”

“Don't know about that,” Drake said.

“If it was other trappers, what better way to turn suspicion away? Scalps bring a bounty in New England, so I hear.”

“All the same, if that Storm Dancer crosses my sights, he's a dead man,” Drake insisted.

“Don't say that,” she said. “You can't condemn him when you don't know he's done anything wrong.”

“I don't hold with that talk,” Flynn said. “I've known him since he was a boy, and I've never known him to do a dishonorable thing. Not that he couldn't kill if it came to that. I just don't see him murderin' without good reason.”

Drake shook his head. “It's time the Cherokee moved on, pack and parcel. This land's too good for them. Decent folks will be comin' in, tillin' the soil, and raising livestock. God-fearing folk.”

Flynn spread honey on his corn bread. “Mind that talk. You shoot a Cherokee, any Cherokee, and you may as well stick your head in a hornet's nest. More trouble than you can imagine. Stick to raisin' your livestock, Drake. You'll live longer.”

“I'm of a different opinion, Mr. O'Shea, but I didn't come to argue with you. I came to ask your permission to walk out with your daughter.”

Flynn glanced across the table at her. She glared at him. “You're always welcome here,” her father said to Drake. “But Shannon's been on her own for a long time. You two will have to come to an agreement between you.”

“I'd be a good provider,” Drake assured him. “Shannon's caught my eye, and what I take a fancy to, I usually get.”

“Do I have any say in this?” Shannon asked.

“You'll come around,” Drake said. “'Cause you'll soon see, the life I can offer you is too good to resist.”

 

Drake spent the night at the post and left for home at daybreak. Shannon was relieved to see him go. She couldn't deny that he was an attractive man and that his family was well-off by frontier standards. She was so used to being dismissed as a bound girl, good for nothing but bed sport, if a man could persuade her—which none had.

It was natural that she was a little flattered by Drake's offer. If she'd been inclined to marriage, he'd be a good choice. And, the longer he was nearby, the more difficult he would be to resist. There was a high price to pay for keeping her independence…maybe too high.

And then there was Oona. Shannon had worried about the Indian woman. Where had she gone overnight? Was she safe?

Her fears turned out to be for naught, because Drake was gone no more than half an hour and the Indian woman came into the house and began her daily chores.

“Why did you go?” Shannon asked. “Are you all right?”

Oona shrugged.

“I don't understand. Why did you have to leave?”

Oona put a finger to her lips. “It saves trouble.”

Shannon shook her head. “It's not right that you—”

“It is our way.”

Shannon reached for her leather apron, but her father motioned to her. “I've a mind to ride out to the nearest village and do some trading with Split Cane's people. I thought ye might care to go along and make your acquaintance of some of the women.”

She glanced from him to Oona.

“Go,” the Indian woman said. “I will watch the store.”

“I'd like that,” she said. It would give her a chance to spend time with him alone. They had so many years to make up for. And it might give her a chance to ask him how he could live with Oona and want to hide her from whites. It seemed shameful somehow, and unlike the father she remembered, the man who chose his own path, regardless of what others thought.

They took the horses, and Shannon found herself once more astride Badger's broad back. The way was downhill for the first few miles, but they made good time. The pony had no trouble keeping up with her father's sorrel gelding, even though the horse had longer legs.

“Are you of a mind to accept Drake Clark's offer?” Flynn asked when they'd stopped by a nameless creek to water the animals. “He's a good catch.”

“So he seems to think.”

Her father sat down on a rock and filled his pipe with tobacco. He was dressed all in buckskins, and if it hadn't been for his merry Irish eyes, he might have looked like an Indian himself, Shannon thought. Maybe he was, in a way. Maybe this wild country changed you.

“You're of an age to take a husband.”

“Drake Clark doesn't treat his mother with much respect.”

“According to Nathan, she's not an easy woman to live with.”

“You'd never let me get away with sassing my mother.”

“No, I wouldn't,” Da agreed. “But Hannah raised him and his twin brother. If he's lackin' in respect, the fault's hers. Have you any real objection to Drake—other than that?”

“I like him well enough, I suppose.” More than that, if she was honest. He was a lusty man, and her own strong nature responded to that. But, she wondered, would having a good husband in her bed be enough?

Once married, she would be trapped into a way of life where she'd have few choices. Nathan Clark didn't hesitate to slap his wife when he was angry. Most men did as much. Would Drake treat her the same way? And if he did, could she submit to him as a wife was supposed to? As the law gave them the right?

She glanced in her father's direction. “I don't know. I'm not sure I know Drake well enough to make a decision like that.”

“He has a temper, that's true enough.”

“Like his father.”

“Who wouldn't with the shrew Nathan's married to?”

She chuckled. It was true. Hannah Clark was an unpleasant woman, but…maybe she had good reason. She was a hard worker, and she didn't seem particularly appreciated by either her husband or her sons.

Shannon's pony thrust his nose deep into the water, swishing his tail as he drank. On a branch nearby, a wren hopped and chattered. The sun was warm on her face, and she felt lighthearted…truly happy.

“Don't think to wait for a love match, me girl. Few white men cross our path out here, let alone princes on unicorns.”

“No? And I thought the mountains must be full of them,” she teased.

“I felt that way about your mother. Like she was something shining out of one of the old stories. When I first laid eyes on her, the sun was gleaming off that golden hair of hers—like yours, it was. She was a sight to behold, with a waist a man could circle with his two hands.”

Shannon picked up a stone and tossed it into the creek.

“A grand passion it was, at least for me. Is that what you're waiting for, darlin'?”

“No, it's not that. It's just that I'm not certain I want any husband,” she admitted.

“Hush your mouth. What way is that for a beautiful young woman to talk? Of course, ye want a husband. And a houseful of babies.”

“Maybe someday. I would like children.” She tossed another stone into the creek and watched as ripples radiated out from the spot where the pebble landed. “But if I do decide to marry, I want to choose with my head rather than my heart. Love isn't always enough. You felt that passion for my mother, and it ended with you both miserable.”

The sorrel horse nosed at Shannon's pony, and Badger nipped at the gelding. “Here now,” Flynn admonished, separating the two animals. “Best we'd get back on the trail,” he said, swinging up into the saddle. “We've a ways to go yet.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “When you talk like that, you sound like your mother. But I know you. Deep inside, you're like me. When lightning strikes you, you'll follow the right man to the ends of the earth.”

“I guess we'll just have to wait and see about that,” she answered.

“Aye, so we will, darlin'.”

“What about Oona?” she ventured. “Do you feel that way about her? Did lightning strike?”

He laughed. “More like a good rain after a long drought. She's good for me.”

“What about her? Do you make her happy?”

He glanced at her and frowned. “You didn't like it—that I sent her away when Drake came.”

“No, I didn't. Why, Da? Are you ashamed of her?”

“A little maybe,” he admitted. “She's not white.”

“But she's good enough to have your child.”

“Drop it, girl. 'Tis between the two of us.”

“But—”

“It's our way, and it suits us. Stay out of what isn't your affair, Mary Shannon.”

“I just—”

He held up a callused hand. “We'll talk of this no more.”

Frustrated, she kicked her heels into the pony's sides. He broke into a trot and pushed ahead of the sorrel. The old saddle that her father had altered to fit Badger had seen better days, but Shannon was glad to have it. It wasn't a side saddle, but since she was a novice rider, it was easier to keep her balance with the aid of stirrups.

The meadow that stretched ahead of them was knee-deep in grass and ablaze in color from the wildflowers that grew in abundance everywhere: black-eyed Susan, orange-yellow jewelweed, white May apple, Fairy Wand, and bloodroot, as well as vast tangles of purple rhododendron, so large that they had to follow deer paths around and through them.

It was hard to stay angry with her father with such beauty all around her. And, it was almost as difficult to realize that he had human failings. She thought that his treatment of Oona was unfair, but maybe it was their business and not hers. She'd have to talk with Oona about it sometime when her father wasn't around. It could be that Oona was uncomfortable about whites and preferred to leave. That would be something to ask. For now, she'd do as Da wanted and not discuss it with him, but she couldn't forget it, and she would pursue the matter later.

They rode for hours, down hollows and up slopes, along creek beds, and climbing mountainsides so steep that they had to dismount and lead the animals. How her father found his way through the thick forests of old trees with leaves so thick that sunlight couldn't penetrate, Shannon couldn't imagine, yet he never seemed to hesitate.

“Not far to go now,” he promised when they'd topped yet another hill and descended into a steep valley. “About another two to three miles as the crow flies.”

“I wish I was a crow,” she said. Her bottom ached and her legs were stiff. They'd stopped to drink three times, but she was parched, and her stomach was growling from hunger.

“I've pushed you hard, haven't I?”

“No,” she lied. “I'm fine.”

Finally, as long shadows faded into dusk, Flynn reined in beside a huge beech tree. “We'll wait here,” he explained. “Hold tight to your pony. You can step down.” Once she'd gotten off the pony, he fired his rifle in the air. “Just to announce our presence,” he said. “Not that they don't know we're here.”