Passion's Series (24 page)

Chapter Thirty

James took a deep, sad breath, and tried to ignore the acrid smell drifting upward. Would this war ever end?

He'd been led to believe he would be helping the Choctaw to diminish their ties with the French. In actuality he'd seen precious few French. No, this had become a civil war among the Choctaws.

James looked down at the valley below. The smoke-filled air held the smell of burning flesh and rotting dead. No battle he'd ever witnessed compared to this battle between red brothers. The scene would haunt his dreams forever.

"Our Chief says you are leaving."

James squatted down and picked a blade of grass. He looked closely at the green sprout before placing it between his teeth. He'd heard Spotted Hawk. He didn't want Hawk to ask him to stay. "I'm no longer needed here. My woman waits for me in my own village."

Hawk let his gaze scan the battle scene below. "You have been given many scalps in payment. Do you have a tall lodge pole to hang them on?"

James glanced up at Hawk and then straightened up. "I have a tall pole. I will cover it with the scalps of my brother's enemies."

Hawk nodded and James turned and swung up on Eagle.

"Fair well, my friend." James reined Eagle around and  rode away from the valley of blood and death. Without thinking he took the trail he knew was traveled most often by George. Two days later he was pleased to come across George's camp.

"Its good to see you, George," he said as he stepped into the light of George's small fire. Startled, George had a pistol pointed at James' heart before he'd finished speaking.

"Damn it, James." he swore with a chuckle as he put his pistol away. "It's good to see you. I dare say your woman would have scalped me herself if I'd shot you dead."

James laughed, "Only after torturing you for days."

George shuddered, "God preserve me from wild wolves and crazy squaws.'' He pointed to the ground across the fire from himself. "Sit. We have much to talk about."

James had not realized just how tired he was until he lowered himself to the ground.

"Governor Glen has withdrawn his agreement with us. He believes you to be dead."

James sprang to his feet. "I must get back to Charles Town."

"Not in the dark you won't. Settle down for the night. In the morning will be soon enough to leave."

Knowing George to be right James stretched out on the ground and was soon asleep.

James woke to a sudden and painful kick to the ribs. In one fluid motion he rolled and sprang to his feet. With a curse he glared into the eyes of a burly man holding a pistol pointed directly at his chest.

A quick look around revealed two French foot soldiers and a half dozen Choctaw warriors. He could not believe this many men were able to come upon him and George unaware.

Swinging his head from side to side he looked for George. He finally spotted him. George, tied by the wrists to two trees hung partially suspended between the two. James was likewise roughly grabbed and dragged against his struggles to where he was also strung up like a deer ready for gutting.

He looked over to George. There was a good deal of blood flowing from his left temple. A warrior stepped up and proceeded to cut George's clothes from his body. As the night air touched the bare skin, James could see him shiver.

Slowly the cold penetrated his consciousness and George groaned as he came to. He glanced over to James and James saw the silent plea in their depths.

The Indian stepped to James and quickly stripped him.

Up until this point no words had been spoken. James figured it was about time to start up some dialogue. "What do you want?" he asked in French. The captors all laughed.

One of the foot soldiers stepped  up to James. "Who are you, breed?" he sneered.

James twisted at his bindings in response.

"So you refuse to be cooperative." He turned and strode toward George. "How about you? Do you have something to say to me?"

George spit a rather disgusting wad into the Frenchman's leering face. The soldier stood perfectly still as the spit slid down the side of his face. Then with a burst of anger he drove his fist into George's stomach.

Yanking a hand full of hair he drew close to the bound man.

"I'm going to enjoy watching what my Choctaw friends have in store for you." With a painful pull to his hair he added, "I wonder if you will die well or if your screams will fill the night like the baying of a pack of wolves."

George spoke through clinched teeth as his gaze bore hatefully into the eyes of his enemy, "I'll see you in hell, you savage's whore!"

The Frenchman withdrew a knife from the sheath he wore at his side and placed the flat side to George's face. "Do you know what the Indian's do with a knife as sharp as this?" He tilted the blade slightly and slid it down the side of George's face. "They use it for skinning."

He lowered the knife and  ran a finger along the bleeding wound he'd just opened on George's face. "Oh, my. It looks as if I cut you," he brought the finger to his lips and licked the blood off. "Not to worry. It is a shallow cut, certainly not a life threatening one.

"You sonofabitch," James hissed and attention returned to him.

As the Frenchman walked away from George he snapped his fingers and indicated with a quick point in the older man's direction that he wanted the warriors to finish where he left off.

"Are you going to talk to me now? Torture is not to your liking I see. Tell me, who are you and why are you here?"

"I am traveling on my people's land. He is one of your own kind. Why are you doing this?" He answer was a hard blow to the gut.

"You still have not figured out who's asking the questions here. Let me make this a bit easier for you. I already know that he," he jerked his head in George's direction, "is not French. I also have a suspicion that you are not a breed."

He let his eyes travel over James. "Your skin is dark, but we all know that can be accomplished with a little of the stain the Indians use on their own skin."

He lowered his gaze and then looked back into James' eye. Besides, your color is not exactly even.

George moaned through his teeth. James didn't want to look over. He didn't want to see what was happening to George. The next instant air whooshed from his lungs as a fist hit him hard in the chest.

More punches followed and James swung with each one. Finally, one of the soldiers supported him from behind so the punched would hold more power. James let his mind draw upon what he'd learned from New Moon about the death sleep.

The strength of the punches faded till they were little more than soft bats to his body. The captors, thinking he had fainted and feeling exhausted withdrew.

With the morning came more torture. James fought against the bindings at his wrists but it was useless.

He screamed out threats and obscenities first in French and then Choctaw as he watched the brutality they inflicted on George, but there was nothing else he could do.

Finally at the end of three days, George slipped to a place where they could no longer cause him pain. The Frenchman the others called Captain wiped his knife as he sauntered up to James.

"Well, Fitzgerald. Oh, you are surprised to see I know who you are." He glanced over his shoulder at George's body. "Don't worry, your friend did not turn you over. He died quite well, actually. You put up a bigger racket over his punishment than he did."

He slid his knife back into its place at his side. "I'm sure you will be relieved to know we don't plan to kill you, Colonel. Oh no, we won't do that. Everyone knows that to bring you in alive will be to get a nice reward. Of course, it's not necessary to bring you in good health." He slammed a fist into James' stomach.

"I would truly love to hear a little protest from you, Col. Fitzgerald." He hit him again. "Come here," he called over his shoulder. "Hold him for me!" James felt a shoulder pressed up against his back and then another blow.

He forced his mind to float as he concentrated on the death sleep. A vision of New Moon floated before his mind's eye. The blows were softer now. He would live through this. He would return to her.

Chapter Thirty-one

New Moon panted like a wounded animal as she stared into the crackling flames. It was early spring. It was a time for watching children grow. It was a time for young boys who were soon to face the trials of manhood to play at being warriors. It was a time of peace and love for the Cherokee as they enjoyed the feast of
Hottuk-Aimpa Heettla Tana
, the feast of renewed love and friendship.

But what New Moon saw in the dancing flames of her fire was not a vision of happiness. She wrapped her arms tightly about her body in a wasted effort to control her quaking.

Before her, contorted in pain, was the face of her beloved. Panther's eyes were closed tight against waking. She could hear the soft chant pass from between his swollen lips as he prayed to the Great Spirit to lead him deeper into the death sleep.

She scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward the door in her haste to step out into the cold night air. As Sister Wind touched her sweat-dampened skin she shivered again. Without waiting to gather a robe for warmth she turned toward the gate and started off in a fast trot for the only place on Grandfather Earth that felt sacred to her.

New Moon ignored the shouts of the gate watchman as she sprinted through. She knew word of her leaving the village before sun up would be sent to the chief. She also knew the Chief, her brother Dancing Cloud, would be waiting for her when she returned. He would not approve of what she was going to do but he would not be able to stop her.

Plans formed in New Moon's mind as she sprinted forward. She would leave her baby with
Akachee
. Panther's mother would keep the child safe. New Moon knew
Akachee
would be able to find a nurse for the tiny girl. Panther's daughter had lived for one moon and was strong. Her daughter would survive this separation and she would be healthy when the time came to meet her father.

New Moon made her way between the rough boulders to emerge at the riverbank. As she waded out into the cold water she wondered if her warrior
had obtained the death sleep or if he still felt the pain she had seen on his face.

She climbed to the top of the boulder that jutted out over the river and turned to face the east. She raised her arms high and chanted with all her heart to the wind, to the sky, and to the Great Spirit.

Not long ago her warrior had stood on this stone and chanted the same prayer for her safety that she now spoke for him. The Spirits had been good to them that time, would they be again? She chanted louder.

As Grandmother sun peaked above the horizon New Moon dove from her perch into the sparkling water and then stood, the water coming nearly to her shoulders, and raised her arms high in greeting.

***

New Moon leaned her bare belly and breast against the rough bark of the hickory tree unmindful of how it dug into her tender skin. It had taken one full moon for the war party to locate where her warrior was imprisoned. Now she waited as she watched across the wide expanse of meadow, which led up to the Alabama garrison where her Panther was held.

She waited…and she watched.

Two days before she had visited the French trading post. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as she remembered the stupid French trader. She spoke to him in his own tongue and he'd thought her to be Choctaw. She pretended to drink his fire water, had rubbed her hands and body against him while she coaxed him into telling her about the crazy Englishman called, Red Panther.

'They beat zee white man, they staked him in zee sun without water, but still zee only thing he will tell them, he iz Red Panther, beloved warrior."

The smell of rotting teeth and sour whiskey blew in her face with each word he spoke. He wiped a dirty hand across a chin encased in a tobacco-stained beard. With the other he reached out to fondle New Moon's breast. She didn't resist but leaned closer.

"Tell me more. Are they going to kill him?" Her fear for Panther and her disgust at being touched by this smelly
No Thing
made her voice shaky and her breath come out in a short pant.

The Frenchman mistook her reaction to be sighs of passion and ran his hand lower along her belly. He pushed her back against the fur and brought his face close to hers.

New Moon fought to keep from gagging. "You are so strong. Any squaw would be proud to lay beneath you," she cooed as her hand slipped beneath his rawhide shirt and pulled it up over his head.

His body odor assailed her and she thought she might retch. Instead she choked down her gore and ran her hands along his hairy chest. "Tell me more about this crazy white man. It excites me to hear it."

He tossed his shirt aside and fell hard upon her. He didn't seem to notice when she turned her head away. He buried his hairy face against the soft neck she exposed to him. With a rumbling laugh he nipped cruelly at her neck and breast with his sharp broken teeth.

'"Nough about zee crazy Englishman. They will be taking him tomorrow. Going to hang him in New Orleans."

Finally, she had the information she needed. She ran her hands down his back and around his sides, "Let me help you with your pants. You are right, this has taken long enough, I am ready for you now."

She felt a shudder of passion pass through his body as he raised up just enough for her to slip her hands between them to loosen his lacing.

As her hand came around her fingers curled about the smooth handle of his knife. She slipped the blade between them and then, with one smooth thrust, slid it between his ribs. As he tried to rise she gripped her legs about him and held tightly as she wrapped an arm about his neck. She shoved the knife deeper and pulled it back a few inches to plunge it in again.

With a hard heave he pushed up and flipped to his back trying to remove himself from her. But she clung tight and straddled him.

Over and over she shoved the knife in, each time angling it in another direction, while he struggled weakly to escape her. After what seemed a long time, the struggles ended.

She rolled from him and lay there exhausted. She had washed herself then, scrubbing not only the blood from her body but the feel of his hands and hot breath from her skin.

***

New Moon looked toward the east. Grandmother sun had risen and made her way above the treetops. Surely it would not be much longer.

She heard a shout and turned her gaze back toward the fort. The gate opened and a flat bed wagon containing a large wooden cage rolled through.

New Moon's fingertips dug into the bark of the tree. She hugged her arms about it as if it were a lover. Her cheek pressed hard against its surface and she could feel the throbbing of her body against its hard bark as her heart beat like an animal's trying to free itself from the cage of her body.

The wagon came closer and she slipped silently out of sight of the driver. As the wagon passed she stepped out and could see Panther huddled in the back, his face pressed against the wooden bars while he sat sprawled in the corner.

She willed that he would open his eyes, and he did. Their eyes met, but she was not sure he had enough time to gather his thoughts before she ducked back behind cover.

The wagon moved slowly. New Moon knew the guards were unconcerned about possible dangers. They were will within French Territory, and the prisoner they escorted lay half-dead in the French man's rolling prison with no one to care if he made it to New Orleans dead or alive.

But they were wrong. Behind the caravan of ten guards and one half-dead captive, stalked another, one with the skill of a warrior and the heart of a lioness. She would prove it to them. She was Wa-sa, and they had her Panther.

New Moon followed the wagon for three days, waiting for the new moon, the time that the spirits would work in her favor.

***

James had been given a small skin of stale water. He picked up the skin and sipped sparingly. Each day he felt stronger even though they gave him little to eat. Each  night he dreamed of New Moon.

He was certain now he'd seen her. At first he'd thought himself dreaming. He turned his face to the breeze and breathed deeply. She waited out there...somewhere.

James woke. He opened his eyes to utter darkness. He heard something. Slowly he turned his head and peered into the darkness. His eyes strayed to the dark sky. It was a new moon. She would come tonight. He smiled. She had said she would come for him if he stayed away too long.

His warrior training came to the forefront, as he once again became Red Panther. His ears tuned into the sounds of nature, the nervous stepping of the horses, the absence of the scurrying noises made by the night creatures.

He made no sound as he rose to his knees. His eyes turned again to the doorway and he saw New Moon standing there. The door swung open. Nether said a word as he crawled forward and out of the cage.

Not far away New Moon had tethered a horse. He took a hand full of mane and half swung, half pulled himself onto the horse's back. He hardly noticed the strong grip of a steadying hand as he drifted into unconsciousness.

James felt the heat of the sun bearing down on him. He'd been stripped and was laying spread eagle on the ground, tied in place with rawhide straps.

He could hear the laughter and taunts of his captors; he could feel the sting in the many cuts made by their beatings, as they poured salt onto the angry flesh.

Soft whispers to be still reached his ears and New Moon's face floated in his memory. He felt her soft hands caressing his face and felt cool water slide over his heated body. She told him to be silent and to be still.

Suddenly he was cold and he wanted to cry out in his misery, but the voice returned and he lay quietly trembling, clinching his teeth to keep them from chattering.

***

James smelled smoke and opened his eyes. He lay in a cave covered by white men's blankets. He heard a noise and turned his head to see New Moon just returning. He watched as she carefully concealed the small opening and wondered how she could have dragged him inside.

The faint glow from the small fire afforded little light, but it was enough for him to watch New Moon move about while he lay helpless in the shadows.

New Moon wore the legging and waistcloth of a warrior. Her hair, held from her face by his beaded headband, fell loosely over one shoulder and down to partially cover one bare breast.

As she moved gracefully about the small shelter he watcher her with pride. He should beat her for risking her life in such a way.
Good Lord
! He swore in his mind.
She could have been captured … raped and tortured before given the gift of death!

His thoughts spun frantically with the horrors that could have befallen her, but they hadn't, he told himself at last. He watched as she squatted before the fire and filled a wooden bowl with broth.

She rose again, and the play of light and shadows across her smooth copper skin caused his stomach to tighten with a mixture of his need for her, and the fear of what could have happened to her because of him.

New Moon turned and walked slowly in his direction, "We are in the mountains again. You have slept long and must eat now, my beloved."

A smile came to his lips. She squatted down beside him and he breathed deeply of her scent. "How did you know I was awake?" He knew his voice was weak, yet he could see the pleasure in her eyes when he spoke.

"I know when you are watching me." She answered him. "I have learned, when I am near, you are as aware of me as I am of you. Is it not so, because I was near, you woke from the death sleep and were ready when I opened the cage they had put you in? Did you not hear me through the sickness when I pleaded with you to be quiet? If you had not we would have been in the French camp now."

He raised a trembling hand toward her face and cursed his own weakness. "You should not have come. You could have been killed, then what would I have done?" His strength gave out and his arm sank down before he could touch her moist cheek.

New Moon caught his wrist and brought his hand to her face. "I did not come alone." She kissed each of his fingers. "Buffalo came."

"Buffalo is barely more than a boy."

"He is a warrior. He will return to the village with two scalps. The village will be proud and the
ida:hnvwi:sg
will give him a new name." She traced his fingertips along her lips. "Yellow Blanket came as well, and Runs Far. You will not see them until you are ready to travel."

She nuzzled her cheek into his palm and then brought his hand down along her neck and slowly to her breast. His gaze followed as she pressed his open palm over her heart and held it there. He could feel the strong steady beat.

"Do you feel my heart, Panther?"

Panther raised his eyes to hers.

"I give you my strength."

"You should not have come," his voice was little more than a whisper."

"You are forever telling me that I belong to you. Now I will tell you. You belong to me. I did not want you to go, but I knew you must follow your heart. Know, my beloved, I will follow my heart as well. I owe this to our child."

Panther's eyes slid to her breast, "That was the something you wanted to tell me before I left. Why did you not tell me that you carried my child within you?"