Silver Tears (9 page)

Bounding off his great black horse, he raced inside to find the place a shambles.

“Ishani,” he called. “Ishani?”

He knew it was useless. She was gone. Jerking aside the curtain that hid the bed, he spied a piece of birch bark amidst the tumbled covers. He snatched it up, staring at the scribbled symbol of farewell followed by a crude picture of a white dove, Ishani’s signature.

Gunn sank to the bed, stunned. For days he had worried over how he would convince Ishani that she must return to her people. He had planned to reason with her, to plead, if necessary. He knew how she dreaded the thought of becoming Scarappi’s bride. He’d even thought of going to the Frenchman about their marriage. Now she had taken the problem out of his hands, making the decision herself. He should have felt relieved, but something was wrong here. He glanced about.

“Scarappi,” he muttered.

The same warrior who had almost kidnapped Alice had now taken Ishani. Scarappi was to be feared, not only for his ruthlessness, but because he was the son of a chieftain, a great sagamore of the Anasagunticook nation that lived in the valley of the Androscoggin River. These people were noted for their fierce hatred of the English and so were close allies of Baron de Saint Castin.

He glanced about the wreckage of the bedroom, then frowned down at Ishani’s farewell scratched into the soft bark. It seemed to indicate that she had left of her own free will, but the destruction all about painted a far different picture. What the hell had happened?

Gunn spent some time examining the clues. The truth seemed to him that even as he had been making plans to take her home, Ishani had finally made up her own mind to go back to her people. Then, while she awaited dawn to begin her long trek, Scarappi had come for her. The black lightning bolts torched on his walls were Gunn’s final proof. Scarappi had come here, bent on revenge. Their violent meeting at the fort had spurred the fierce warrior to action.

There was no need for Gunn to search for Ishani. He knew he’d never find the wily Scarappi’s camp. However, Gunn felt the need to protect Ishani. He would not see her punished for her childish rebellion. He must make it clear to her people that nothing had happened between them and that she had decided to return on her own, even before Scarappi came for her.

His mind made up, he slammed out the door and climbed back on his horse. He would have to find the one man who could force the tribe to listen to reason—Baron Jean Vincent de l’Abadie de Saint Castin. He must make the Frenchman understand and ensure Ishani’s safety by smoking the hemlock pipe.

Three days went by with no sign of Gunn. Alice hadn’t really expected him to come rushing back with open arms, but she had thought he would put in an appearance, probably bringing Ishani along simply to enrage Alice further.

Jon Hargrave called every morning at precisely eleven to see if Alice had decided yet to set out for Boston. He was polite and supremely patient with her, which only enraged Alice further. She hated to wait any longer, fearing she was only waiting for winter. She almost wished Hargrave could make her leave, just to have the decision taken out of her hands. Then she would have to forget about Gunn and get on with her life.

One especially chilly morning a knock came at Alice’s door a little earlier than usual. She was still in bed, bundled in fur robes against the biting cold.

“Tell the captain I’m not feeling well this morning, Peg,” Alice said.

Pegeen opened the door, then turned to her mistress. “It’s not the captain, Lady Alice. It’s Sir William Phips, and he says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”

Alice leaped out of bed and pulled on her robe, then covered that with a heavy black bearskin. “All right, show him in.”

Alice was troubled. Though she and Sir William had talked on several occasions of the possibility of her going to Boston, she had no idea what he could want with her at this early hour—unless it had something to do with Gunn, perhaps. An all-consuming fear gripped Alice. What if something terrible had happened to Gunn?

“Lady Alice, I’m sorry to disturb you so early,” Phips began, “but I’ve been giving this a good deal of thought, and there’s not much time left, so I felt I had to speak with you right away about this matter.”

He seemed to be rambling. Alice wanted to know immediately if her fears were grounded. “Sir William, does this have anything to do with Christopher Gunn?”

One dark brow cocked upward. “Why, yes, but how did you know?”

Her heart sank. “I didn’t know,” she answered. “But I was afraid something might have happened to him. How bad is the news? You can be blunt with me.”

Phips shrugged. “I’ve had no word from him since he last rode out. I’d give my right arm to know where the devil he is.” He glanced at Alice and offered her a smile of apology. “Pardon me, ma’am, but the man can be infuriating at times.”

Alice nodded. “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m afraid I can’t help you, Sir William. I haven’t the slightest notion where he might be.”

“I didn’t figure you’d know. That’s not exactly why I’m here.”

Phips began telling Alice about his invitation to Gunn, arousing her interest immediately. “I need Gunn’s help with my new shipping venture in Boston. You are still planning to come with us, aren’t you? As I told you earlier, you’ll find my wife good company while Gunn and I tend to business.”

“Of course I still mean to go to Boston,” Alice replied. “What made you think I might have changed my mind?”

Phips looked embarrassed. “Well, you’ve been seeing a lot of Captain Hargrave lately. I thought perhaps you and he had an understanding of sorts and that was why Gunn rode off without a word to anyone.”

“No, Sir William. Our only understanding is that the captain will accompany me to Boston. You did say I would need a driver.”

Will frowned. “Hargrave’s coming? Gunn won’t like that when he hears about it. The two men can’t abide each other.”

“How is Gunn going to hear when we don’t even know where he is? I don’t think he ever intended to make this trip to Boston.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re mistaken, Lady Alice. Actually, Gunn told me that he’d be more than willing to go to Boston if you were along.”

Alice felt her pulses racing. “He actually wants me along?”

“He certainly does, Lady Alice. I think the man is smitten at last.”

Alice smiled at his words, then glanced outside at the gray sky that threatened snow. She shivered in spite of her heavy robes. “Sir William, I can hardly wait to get started. The longer I’m in this place, the more I yearn for civilization and the companionship of other women. Meeting Lady Mary, I’m sure, will be a delight.”

He nodded and offered her a small bow. “I’m glad you’ll be with us. We’ll leave in two days for Boston. It’s a day’s ride down the coast to where my ship is anchored. I only hope Gunn decides to show himself before it’s time to sail. But, regardless, we can’t wait any longer.”

Phips left shortly after that, and Alice set about sorting and packing. For the first time in days she felt lighthearted. She’d known all along that things would work out. Maybe it was simply a matter of holding out for what she wanted. She certainly knew what that was—she wanted Christopher Gunn. In Boston things would be better for them. After all, civilization demanded civilized behavior, which was something Gunn seemed to have discarded here in this savage land.

Gunn had no trouble finding Baron de Saint Castin. The Abenaki were on their way inland for the winter, where they would spend the cold months hunting and trapping until spring lured them back to the shore. Following the Penobscot River, he spotted signs all along the way that showed their passing. On the second day, he found their village.

No one paid much attention as Gunn rode into camp. They all knew him—most even liked him. He was considered by the Abenaki a notch above the other
wautoconoag
, as they called the Englishmen because of their strange clothes. The Indians respected him not only because of his close relationship with the baron, but also for his great abilities as a hunter and a fighter. They saw him almost as an equal.

Gunn spied an old shaman he knew and rode toward him. They exchanged casual nods. The Indian continued silently puffing his clay pipe.

“Where is the Frenchman?” Gunn asked in the old man’s own language.

“Sweating,” the shaman replied, shrugging one shoulder toward a small round lodge set apart from the others. “He knew of your coming. He awaits you.”

Already loosening his clothing, Gunn turned his mount toward the sweat cell. A handsome young woman waited at the entrance to take his horse’s reins.

She smiled at him, then lowered her eyes. “Gunn is much we’come here.” She spoke fair English for an Abenaki maid.

She said no more, but Gunn knew she would be his for the taking after his meeting with the baron. Such was the time-honored custom when guests visited an Abenaki camp.

The girl stood by, her dark eyes cast down, as Gunn quickly shed his clothes. He shivered slightly as the cold wind swirled over his naked body, but a moment later he was inside the steaming hot lodge.

He sank to the ground across the pit of rocks from the big Frenchman, who seemed not to notice his arrival, but continued ladling water over the bed of heated stones. Soon the last chilblain disappeared from Gunn’s body and sweat began to drench his bare flesh, trickling down through the thick mat of red hair on his chest.

“A long ride in such weather,” Castin began. “Your mission must be of some importance, Gunn.”

“Jean Vincent, let’s not play games. Blood brothers should speak plainly to each other. I’m here about Ishani.”

The baron was not as tall a man as Gunn, yet he seemed to loom larger than life in the small space. Without clothes to distinguish him, Castin might have been taken for an Abenaki chief instead of a titled French officer born and raised in the foothills of the Pyrenees. He wore his dark hair in a scalp lock on one side. His skin was a deep bronze, and his body was powerfully muscled. Women, Gunn knew, thought him beautiful, and the Indians considered him a god. Considering Castin’s reputation in France, Canada, and among the Abenaki nation as a charmer, Gunn had to believe what was said of him. It was rumored that the black-eyed Frenchman had married three times already and had fathered countless children in and out of wedlock. Soon he would take a new bride, Ishani’s sister, the beautiful daughter of the Tarratine sagamore, Madockawando. If he did that, then his control over the Abenaki would be absolute.

“Ishani is where she belongs. Scarappi brought her back to her father’s lodge.”

Gunn nodded his solemn agreement. “I meant to bring her back to her people myself.”

The Frenchman made a sound that indicated his disbelief. “You damn British! You think you can take whatever you please. How would you feel if Scarappi had ridden off with your golden-haired woman? At least she fought him. Ishani disgraced herself by running to you. She shamed Scarappi and all of her race. Now he will have to punish her before they can be married.”

“No!” Gunn rose to his full, towering height, cracking his head on one of the birch poles that supported the roof.

“No, you say? And why not? A man has a right to control his woman.”

Gunn stood over the Frenchman, his glaring features all but lost in the rising steam. “She’s not a woman—she’s only a child. You listen to me! These people will do as you say, and I’ve come here to tell you that I don’t want Ishani punished. Do you understand me?”

The baron laughed loud and long, then his dark eyes turned fierce and he said with deadly calm, “Sit down, you hot-blooded Scottish fool! You’ll have the whole camp bursting in here with your angry shouts and threats. Listen to me and listen well. You knew what you were doing when you let Ishani stay. What did you expect—that once you grew tired of having her around she would be welcomed back with open arms by the man she was to marry? Damn you, Gunn, she was a virgin! If you wanted an Indian woman to warm your bed, why didn’t you come here and lure away someone’s wife? Wasn’t that your main occupation back in England? That wouldn’t have been half as bad in this case. No, Ishani must be punished as tradition dictates. And I hope, damn you, that you share her pain in your worst nightmares.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Gunn said. “I am a goddamn stupid idiot when I get the fever in my prick. But I swear to you, I never bedded Ishani. Neither of us did anything wrong. Except for being guilty of fearing Scarappi, Ishani is blameless.”

The Frenchman laughed low in his throat. “You show me a woman, and I will show you a woman who is
not
blameless. They know what they want, all of them, and Ishani wanted you, Christopher Gunn.”

“You’re wrong,” Gunn contended. “She’s only a girl, a mere child who’s scared to death of the man her father says she must marry.”

The Frenchman narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “What the hell are you saying, Gunn?”

“Scarappi’s a crazy savage, we both know that. He’s already buried two wives with his cruelty. It’s not that Ishani wanted me—she simply wanted to run away from Scarappi. He’s the villain in all this.”

“Scarappi is no prince, but that still does not leave the girl blameless.”

Gunn had thought long and hard about this while riding to the camp. “You say Ishani must be punished?”

The baron nodded and took a deep breath, filling his flared nostrils with steam. Then he sat back, staring hard at the man across from him.

Gunn continued. “No woman who has disgraced her betrothed by running off to live with a foreigner should still have the honor of marrying a sagamore’s son. I say her punishment should be marriage to a lesser warrior.”

A long, tense silence followed. Finally the baron nodded. “Well put, Gunn. Now let us smoke.”

The Frenchman produced a long, white clay pipe and stuffed the bowl with crushed hemlock and ivy leaves. The two men sat in silence, passing the pipe back and forth, puffing until fragrant smoke mingled with the hot steam in the hut.

After a long while Castin spoke. “You will wed the Englishwoman?”

The question caught Gunn off guard. “I don’t know.”