Passion's Series (17 page)

"Maybe we can help each other." James turned Dove loose and put his knife away. Tell me what DuPrey is doing in this village and how it is that Little Dove, who loves you, is married to someone she has not chosen."

Blue Feathers shifted his weight up on the floor of the lodge as Dove went shyly to him and settled herself at his side. He motioned for James to sit as well. "The marriage ceremony has not happened. I will discover a way to stop it." Feathers looked down at Dove and smiled. James had no doubt that Feathers would keep his promise to Dove even if it resulted in the loss of his own life.

Feathers turned his attention back to James. "This man you call DuPrey has gained much power in our village by providing our warriors with many powerful weapons and a firewater that causes much  pleasure. Like the firewater, this French man is very dangerous.

"I followed him one night and saw that he meets with a band of Mohawk. This band has caused the death of many of our people, but I knew I would not be believed. I knew I could not kill him then without being killed myself. So I returned to the village and spoke quietly with others who do not feel good in their heart about the French man."

James felt his excitement rising. "How many warriors stand at your side against DuPrey?"

"Three."

James’ optimism lowered. "That is not a great number."

"But they are great warriors." he answered smugly. "We are chosen by Gray Bear to be personal guard to this French man."

James could not hide his grin as he rose to his feet. "Now I know we can help each other. Does it not seen strange to you that Gray Bear, in an effort to protect DuPrey just happen to have chosen the three of you?" Feather's face showed no emotion, but in his eyes James saw understanding.

"Give me the robe. I will stand outside. Dove has chosen you. By law you have the right. When it is time for the marriage ceremony you will have the right to step forward as the first. You just be sure you come out well before daybreak. We have much to talk about."

***

Early the next morning James and Blue Feathers entered the council house. Blue Feathers directed James to a seat close to the council fire, not far removed from the other guest, Colonel Taylor.

James did not look at the colonel directly, but sat stiff and rigid as he listened to the pompous demands sent by the Governor, and quaked at the foolishness.

"I am Colonel Taylor of his Majesty's Royal Service. I have been sent here to apprehend one Christoph Gottlieb DuPrey. The charges are as follows..."

After long moments of listening to the list of charges, a particularly high-ranking warrior stood up and addressed the Colonel, using the beloved speech, on behalf of his friend.

"The man you intend to enslave is a beloved man of the Principal People. His heart holds no hate and his spirit sings with truth. He is not from your land across the great waters. He does not owe allegiance to your Great Chief from that land. Where he has traveled in your lands he has always traveled in peace. He has made known to the
Ani Yunwiya
his tender feelings for us. He works hard to preserve our liberties by opening a water communication between here and the place you call New Orleans.

"This proves his love of doing good. He will bring teachers to show us how to make the black powder to use in the fire sticks he has given to us. We will be better able to defend ourselves against our enemies and to feed our families.

"It appears plain to me that the bad heart of the English commissioner toward our friend is because he loves the Cherokee. His only crime is that he loves the Cherokee." The large Indian lowered himself to his seat and Gray Bear rose.

"The Cherokee want the same as the English. We want to see peace between our two peoples. But we must respect each other as free men and equals. Do not send more of those bad papers to our country. This man you call DuPrey is our guest and is under our protection. Do not question our wisdom or interfere with our customs."

A mumbling grew in intensity until DuPrey rose and held his arms high to silence the crowd. At once all were silent. James sat in awe of the power this man held over the crowd.

"You now have leave to depart. I wish you safe journey, Colonel Taylor, and to show you that I hold no hard feelings against you, who are only attempting to carry out the orders of your own chief, I will assign a guard to escort you until you are safely outside of Cherokee territory." He quickly pointed out several able-bodied warriors one of which was Blue Feathers, and instructed them to go with the colonel.

As the tribe filed quietly from the council house Colonel Taylor stood proud but silent within a circle of fierce warriors.

James let out a relieved breath. DuPrey could just as easily have ordered that the colonel be executed for his part in all of this. He was thankful
that DuPrey had the good sense to know that the colonel's death would have launched an immediate retaliation from the English.

Apparently the French were not as well-positioned as they would have the English to believe.

Chapter Twenty

James rode at a steady pace; breaking seldom to allow the horses he brought back with him a chance to rest. He knew he pushed them hard, but the closer he came to Chota Town the more urgent became his need to hurry.

He held the lead rope to a large, well-formed roan. Following the stallion was a herd of five mares. Not one would stray far from their handsome stallion. It looked as if he might make it all the way without losing one horse.

He could have taken on a couple of hands from the post, but who would have gone with a half-breed to deliver ponies for a bride price? Besides, he wanted as few whites involved in this as possible.

It surprised him that so many white people saw him and mistook him for a half-breed. He held his hand out in front of his face, a hand well tanned with a tint of the deep copper color of the People. A few more times of anointing with the stain and he'd be almost as dark as Dancing Cloud.

His mind drifted to New Moon, as it so often did. To the shade of her skin, the way it felt beneath his fingertips. He inhaled deeply as if the action could better bring to mind the scent of her skin and hair. Soon the waiting would end and she would be his. His passion flared and the ache to possess her surged through him.

James dug his heels into his mount's sides and whispered hoarsely, "Take me home, Eagle; times a wastin'!"

After a short while he slowed, then stopped the horses. He sat very still and listened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as a cold chill crept down his spine. It was quiet, too quiet. Even the horses tossed their heads nervously.

He tilted his head back and held his arms wide at his sides; his palms open and turned upward. He was Red Panther, warrior of the
Ani Yunwiya
. He closed his eyes and chanted.

The chant stopped suddenly and he kicked Eagle into action as he bent low over his neck. The Spirits, his own intuition, he didn't know which, had revealed to him that New Moon was in danger.

***

A loud series of whoops sounded from the walled fortress of Chota Town as James broke into view. Wrapping the lead rope more tightly about his hand he galloped through the gate leading the roan stallion, not caring if any of the mares followed.

As he reached Cloud he tossed the rope of the stallion down at his feet, "What has happened, my friend?" he asked, his voice deep with emotion and dread.

"New Moon is missing. We have just realized she was taken from her secret place. The signs tell us it has not been long."

The bitter taste of bile rose in James' throat as he turned his mount and kicked him into a run. At breakneck speed he raced through the dangerously narrow gateway and  up to the passage that led through the boulders to New Moon's secret place. Here he leapt from his horse and scrambled through the boulders.

In the dimming light of early evening he searched the area, gathering every bit of information he could find. Before long he knew the spot from where his beloved had been abducted, where she was dragged struggling from the water and up toward the mountains on the far side of the river.

He knew the warriors of the village would be preparing for the warpath, but in his heart Red Panther knew he did not have the three days to spend in purification. If he did not find New Moon soon he would lose her.

He looked west. The sun was setting. He would not be able to follow the trail until the sun rose again. With angry jerks he stripped himself. Tonight only would he spend in preparation. The spirits would understand, or they wouldn't, but he would find New Moon.

James plunged himself into the icy water and scrubbed is body free of the dirt accumulated by his hard ride home. Climbing to the top of the boulder he turned to face the setting sun.

With both arms held high above his head he chanted the ancient songs to bring him closer to the spirits all around him. He called to the spirits of the wind, the forest, and  he called to the spirit of his own totem, the panther.
And though he knew the Great Spirit and the God of his childhood to be the same, he called upon God as well.

The next morning, as the sun began to brighten the eastern sky, Red Panther dove from the boulder into the river. Finding his footing he rose up, his arms high above his head in welcome of the morning sun, and hastily completed the ceremony.

Hurrying to the point where New Moon had been half dragged from the river. He knew she would be taken across territory he would only be able to travel on foot. Leaving his horse behind he took off in an easy trot. As he passed wild mountain berries he snatched a tiny fruit from the bush and put it into his mouth without slowing his pace.

Something caught his eye and he stopped. His hand shook as he touched a fingertip to a crimson drop clinging to a berry leaf. Anger and fear pounded through his veins as he tested the firmness of the congealed drop of blood between his fingers. He would have to cover more ground in the daylight hours than the best Cherokee runner. He was running for her life and for his own.

***

New Moon resisted the tug on the leather collar about her neck. She knew it would do no good. The warrior at the other end of the rope would allow her no more rest.

Her body ached from the beating he had given her. The many scrapes and tears on her skin stung painfully as he continued to pull her through the thorny brush and ragged rocks.

Had it been two days since he attacked her? Her mind was foggy. She vaguely remembered how he dragged her naked from the water and beat her senseless beneath the willow that she and Red Panther had lain beneath only days before. It was the custom in the treatment of captives. It was as he had been treated by her war party.

He stopped and she dropped to the ground. After a few moments he turned about to look at her. He grinned hatefully as he tugged again on the rope. She knew the break would not be long enough for her to gather her strength. He stood proudly. There would be no slowing him down. It was time to move on.

***

As she rose to her feet he let his eyes travel over her naked body. Had things been different he might have kept her for himself, but her spirit was too strong. She fought him like a wild cat. She clawed at his flesh with her nails, and sunk her teeth into him several times.

Warriors dreamed of such a woman at their sides, but this one would never be tamed. Better to beat her for the pain her war party had caused him and then trade her into slavery, if she survived that long.

DuPrey was a fool to think he had not seen through him. "Bring me the woman alive and unharmed and your reward will be great," he had said with the honeyed tongue of a snake.

What had he given in reward to the red-men of their party up to now? Whisky, guns, and death! Such things were always a white man's reward to an Indian. He was the only one left.

His brothers had given their lives to further the Frenchman's plan to humble the Cherokee. He did not see any of this war between the Cherokees that DuPrey had promised. He saw no weakening of their unity. All he saw was DuPrey,…
DuPrey, beloved friend of the Cherokee.
He snorted at the lie so many had believed.

No, he would not take the woman to DuPrey. Not alive anyway. He still had the knife he'd stolen from DuPrey's pack. Maybe he would kill her with it and then dump her where her people would find her. His mouth twisted into a sneering grin. Then DuPrey...
most beloved
DuPrey, would die the death that would have been his own, had he not escaped.

With a cruel snarl he tugged on the rope in his hand, pulling New Moan forward so roughly that she fell face down to the hard ground. He turned and quickly started off in a trot, not caring that he dragged her several feet before she regained her footing.

Soon the tension slacked and he gritted his teeth. She would be on her feet now. Her head would be held high and she would be matching his gait as easily as if they were lovers going to their secret place. He growled low in his throat and quickened his pace. He would show this woman warrior whose spirit was the strongest.

The rope did not tighten. His temper flared and he gave the rope a nasty tug. New Moon stumbled but did not lose her footing.

He stopped and turned to face her. She stood before him as proud as any warrior would, her feet braced wide apart. Blood trickled down her scraped knees; the side of her face swollen and her hair caked with congealed blood.

He growled as he watched her. She stared into his eyes! Stealing his soul away bit by bit! He rushed at her and sent her sprawling to the ground with the back of his hand.

She spun around to land heavily on her stomach. Slowly she rolled to her back and looked up at him. No tears moistened her eyes, no whimper slipped from her lips.

He fell on her with his full weight, knocking the air from her and still she did not submit but struggled to push him from her. He pinned her wrists with his hands as he pushed upward, the weight of his lower body still pressing her to the ground. He lowered his face close to hers as he looked into the ebony fire of her eyes and a new lust took hold of him.

She smiled.

With an angry growl he pushed his hips harder against her. He was a warrior! He was purified for war! He could not defile his body so. He could not! Yet, the burning in his body that had been slowly simmering from the time he'd first seen her now raged unchecked through him.

He looked down at the rise and fall of her chest. It was the chest of a woman. If he took her here and then killed her who would know of it?

He would know! The spirits would know! It would be much bad medicine to lose control.

His eyes traveled to hers and he knew she meant to have his soul even if it meant her own death. He forced her legs apart and settled himself against her. He ground his teeth in an ugly sneer as he ground his hips against her and saw the tiniest spark of regret in her eyes. He laughed as he pulled her arms above her head and held them trapped in one hand as the other went to his bindings.

He was mad with lust and anger at this woman warrior who could bring him to this point. She would suffer all the hell he felt at this moment, she would know the blackness of his soul before she died.

A war whoop pierced his heart and stilled his hand just as he yanked his bindings free. In one motion he rolled from New Moon and jumped to his feet.

A Cherokee warrior leapt from the boulder above to slam heavily into him.

The two warriors fought viciously. The Mohawk knew he had defiled himself the moment he threw his body over the woman's. He angered the gods, and he would die. Too bad this avenging angel had not been a moment later in coming. A moment later and he would not be going to his death with the knowledge that she had won.

The two men fought like mad dogs while New Moon lay on her back looking up at the sky. It was clear blue, so beautiful, like his eyes.

Her whole body ached, the pain almost more than she could bear. It had taken all her strength to last this long. Now she could do nothing but lie there while her mind floated fuzzily between light and darkness. She could not slip into the death sleep, not knowing if Panther...

She heard the sounds, as though through a tunnel. The sounds of fighting, of flesh slamming into flesh, the grunting sounds of two men pitting their strength against one another.

The sky was no longer blue as the darkness crowded in around her, and she drifted into unconsciousness.

***

James silently studied New Moon's face, now still and peaceful in sleep. Not far from where she had fallen there was an outcrop of rock that offered a limited amount of protection from the cold mountain winds.

James padded the hard ground with pine needles and covered them over with the small strip of cloth the Mohawk had worn about his waist. This done, he built a small fire and then carried New Moon to the makeshift bed and laid her gently down.

He recalled the pain he felt at hearing she had been taken from him and ground his teeth as flashes of the twisting, writhing body of her abductor came to his mind.

The Mohawk had died well, but James had longed to hear the strangled cries. He would have drawn out the suffering of New Moon's abductor if he'd thought it would further avenge her pain or his own.

Not too long ago he would have refused to believe himself capable of such torture to another, but then neither would he have believed himself capable of the love he felt for New Moon.

James raised himself in one fluid motion, oblivious of his own pain and fatigue, and moved toward the dying embers of their fire. He must hurry before the sun rose.

He held his hands over the coals until they became hot and moist while he looked over his shoulder at his sleeping woman. He gripped his hands into fists to retain the heat and returned to New Moon and knelt down beside her.

He crossed his arms on his chest and lowered his head as if in prayer and chanted softly. As his prayer rose in volume and tempo he raised his head and arms to the sky. With tears sliding down his cheeks, James called out to an ancient god, "Listen! Oh, now you have drawn near to hear."

He lowered his gaze to her face and satisfied himself that she still slept. Raising his right hand to his lips, he moistened his fingers. Very gently he drew his moistened fingertips across her breasts and sang softly, "Listen! Hear! Now the souls have come together. You are of the Wolf clan. Your name is
Nu-ta-te-qua
; I am of the white man's clan. Your body, I take it, I claim it. Listen! Hear! Now our souls have come together."