Black Eagle (24 page)

Wah-ah!
This made the dilemma even more complex. To push ahead without solving the matter of the cinches was to put
Ahweyoh
into constant contact with a killer. But conversely, to return to Albany would be as to put her in contact with the real killer.

What to do?

To Black Eagle's mind, such matters should be handled in a straightforward manner. Therefore, in his consideration, there was only one thing to be done: confront Thompson. Confront him and send him away, back to Albany. And do it as soon as possible.

Glancing toward the women now, he made up his mind to tell them his plans as soon as the chance provided itself.

“Miss Marisa, mightn't I have a moment of yer time? ” With his three-cornered hat in his hand, Thompson approached Marisa as she stood off to the side of the horses. She was placing their silver dishes, which she had recently dried, into their trunk.

Looking up, Marisa glanced right and left. Where was everybody? Where was Sarah and Black Eagle?

Ah, there they were; she caught sight of them out the corner of her eye. They were close to the water, too far away to provide an excuse to avoid Thompson.

She sighed. She realized that traveling as they were afforded them all with little opportunity to appreciate the finer qualities of life. But Thompson's clothes were greasy and smelled sour, his face was unshaven, his hair was uncombed and his breath would have stopped a rattlesnake's bite.

Indeed, the furthest thing from her mind was to speak to Richard Thompson. Lucklessly, she could think of no valid reason to deny him a chance to present his cause, whatever that cause may be. Closing the trunk that carried their dishes, she sat down upon its lid and said, “Yes? What is it Mr. Thompson?”

“It's about our Indian scout, Miss Marisa.”

“Yes?”

“I seen ye two together.”

Marisa hesitated. “Yes, I know. Have you an objection?”

“No, miss, exceptin' for this. If'n yer thinkin' of marriage to him, it'll never be.”

“Mr. Thompson, I—”

“I know them kind of Indians,” he interrupted, “and they don't rightly have real marriages. Two people get together to have children, but afterward, the man can go about his business and have all the women he wants.”

“Mr. Thompson.” Marisa stood up to her feet. “I think I must remind you that this sort of talk is out of line.”

“But if'n I don't tell ye that them Indians don't rightly hold to the same kinda morals as us English, then who's to tell ye?”

“Who, indeed? I thank you for your concern, Mr. Thompson. Your advice is kindly taken, but that will be all for now.”

“But Miss Marisa, ye're judging a savage as though he was all civilized, and he ain't. Now, I can see this scout's weaved his spell over ye, but he canna be trusted. These Indians are pagans, savages. Have ye considered that maybe he deliberately let those cinches turn to dust?”

Marisa exhaled on a snort. “Hardly. Sir Eagle has proved himself to be quite competent. Besides, what possible reason would he have to do so?”

“So as he could save ye to get yer favor.”

Marisa sneered. “Letting them turn to dust would hardly buy my favor, I assure you. This is nonsense, Mr. Thompson. He risked his life to save me. That alone has won my regard.”

“But that's exactly what I be sayin'. He cuts the cinches, keeps himself close by to ye, and then when they give, he rushes back to save ye.”

“ 'Tis utter nonsense,” said Marisa. “And what about the other times Sir Eagle has come to my aid?”

“Same thing, miss.”

Marisa sighed before she said, “Again I thank you very much for your concern, Mr. Thompson. But I think you have missed the mark on this. Good day.”

Thompson's face screwed up into a frown. “Do ye not see? It's workin' on ye.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Then sternly, “That will be all.”

Thompson slammed on his hat and turned away, but as he left, he muttered under his breath, “Yep, I'd say he has yer favor.” And he left.

Marisa watched Thompson's retreating back; she also fanned the air around her in an attempt to rid herself of the stench of bad breath and unwashed flesh. Perhaps she would lend the man her perfume.

However, Marisa was also frowning. It couldn't possibly be true.

After all, look at who was telling it. It simply was not possible.

 

 

The Lake-that-turns-to-rapids appeared to be a calm body of water from Marisa's view of it. It wasn't terribly wide at this section of it, although Marisa could see that farther east it became wider and perhaps deeper. But from her position, the lake appeared to be utterly calm—and teeming with fish.

Their supper had consisted of fish, a welcome surprise from the steady diet of corn cakes and jerky that they'd been subsisting on for the past few days. However, with what had been a pleasure also came a responsibility—there were dishes to be washed.

The sun was still fairly high in the sky, though it was starting its descent toward the western horizon. At present, she and Sarah were huddled next to the water, washing up their sterling silver dishes. Marisa sighed, then sat up and stretched. Both her elbow and her hip were still sore.

“Are you feeling well enough to be doing this?” asked Sarah, her brows pulled together in a frown.

“I am fine.”

“You're certain? Because if you need to rest, 'tis not necessary that you help with the cleanup. I can do this by myself.”

“I promise you, Sarah, that I am well enough. I've fallen from a horse before and little fuss was made over me then. 'Tis nothing to be concerned with now.” Marisa stretched again, then lowered her arms and massaged her elbow. “Sarah, what is your opinion on the events of the day? As you know, Richard Thompson has made the point that Black Eagle should be blamed for the accident. He also spoke to me earlier, and he said quite plainly that he suspected that Black Eagle had let the leather rot quite deliberately—so that he could rescue me.

“Of course it's ridiculous,” Marisa continued. “But still, if I might, I'd like your opinion.”

Sarah hesitated before she commented. And then, as if choosing her words carefully, she spoke slowly, saying, “I engaged Black Eagle in conversation a little earlier this afternoon, and I saw and touched the cinches that broke. He is at present repairing them. In truth, Black Eagle believes that the cinches were deliberately cut.”

“What?”

“ 'T is true. He said our saddles were almost new when we started out, that it isn't possible that they would wear so quickly. Of course he could be saying that to cover up his own negligence, but . . .”

“Deliberately cut? But that would mean . . . I find that hard to believe.” Marisa drew her brows together.

“I, too,” said Sarah. “While I hardly trust Thompson, I did see the severed leather, and it appeared to me that it was old and much used. Not the sort of saddle that one would trust. Yet, I see no point in denying that Black Eagle might have a more discerning eye than I do.”

Marisa remained silent, although after a moment, she said, “This is rather disconcerting.”

Sarah laid her hand over Marisa's. “So it is. If true, it would mean that the action was consciously done.”

“Yes. But it can't possibly be true. Richard Thompson has no reason to have done it; I barely know the man.”

“I know.” Sarah shook her head. “It is possible that Black Eagle is in error about the leather straps. These Mohawk Indians are not as acquainted with horses as we are, the horse having been in their possession for only a few years. Perhaps Black Eagle overlooked the weathering of the straps, and is trying to place the deed at Thompson's feet.”

“But why would he do that?”

“To gain your favor, perhaps.”

“Richard Thompson said much the same thing.” At first Marisa became very still, then she looked down and murmured, “But he would have no need to do it. He knows he already has my favor.”

“Does he? And yet today I warned him away from you.”

“But you did so after the accident, didn't you?”

“True. Still, since Richard Thompson has accused him of negligence, Black Eagle might try to soften the blow, for I believe he plans to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“In marriage? Did he say that to you?”

Sarah nodded. “Indeed, he did.”

Marisa sighed, and looking down, she couldn't help but smile.

Sarah, however, witnessed Marisa's reaction, and she reached out to touch Marisa's arm. “Marisa, think,” she said. “I fear it is not wise to encourage Black Eagle overly much. He is besotted with you, and although his embrace might be pleasant to you now, you must think of the future. Where would you live? How would you live?” Sarah paused, then added, “After your upbringing, I doubt that you would be pleased to set up house in a log cabin for the rest of your life, and if you were to take Black Eagle as your husband, I fear that a log cabin would be your fate.”

Marisa didn't respond. And when it appeared that she would add nothing to the conversation, Sarah went on to say, “If you wish to continue to live in the style to which you have been raised, I feel it fair to warn you not to associate with Sir Eagle too closely. There is danger in doing so, since you might fall in love with him. Have you considered that possibility?”

Marisa sighed. “Sarah, your warning is too late. I already am in love with him.”

“Marisa!”

“But fear not. I have no intention of marrying him, though I must admit that the idea of doing so is pleasurable, indeed. However, as obstinate as my guardian is, I am and will always be loyal to him. And truly, I believe he would be most displeased to have Black Eagle as a nephew.”

Sarah nodded. “Yes. As much as I dislike and fear John Rathburn, I am aware that you are devoted to him. And since this be the case, please, try to keep your distance from Sir Eagle. The man is a handsome man, after all, and he admires you, which is appealing in its own right. There is a strength about him, as well, an independence, if you will, that is alluring, I must admit.”

Marisa smiled at her friend. “If you are attempting to dissuade me from my affection for him, you are not aiding your cause.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right. 'Tis too bad that you are who you are and he is who he is. But I also know that your sense of duty to your step-uncle would not allow you peace of mind if you were to rebel against him permanently.”

“Yes.”

“I will do my duty, then, and protect you against Sir Eagle,” continued Sarah, “or any other man who might take it into his head to ravish you with praise.”

Marisa squeezed Sarah's hand. “Yes, but do not do your duty too well. I am in love with him.”

This said, the two women fell into silence, until Sarah suggested, “Perhaps we should return to Albany. Neither of us knew of the exact hardships we would face on the trail. I know 'tis not what you have planned, but . . .”

“Return to Albany?” Marisa repeated. “That would, indeed, be wise, if Richard Thompson is to be trusted. But if he is not, and Sir Eagle is innocent, then the only motive I can fathom for Mr. Thompson's behavior is that of . . . of murder . . . In that case, I am not safe here, and certainly not in Albany.”

Both women fell into silence.

“Do you think I may have angered someone in Albany, perhaps some suitor? I have not always been particularly kind to them.”

Sarah nodded. “I doubt that a rebuff, alone, could account for attempted murder. But I fear I have come to the same conclusion as you have, although I hardly wish to think of its truth.”

The lake was calm, the air was calm, which made the war whoop, off in the distance all the more chilling.

Both Sarah and Marisa looked up. Both looked eastward. Marisa barely suppressed a scream. There, in the distance were two canoes full of what appeared to be Frenchmen and native warriors.

Then came Black Eagle's voice. “
Ahweyoh
! Miss Sarah! Fall down! Stay low!”

They both obeyed at once, and looking up, Marisa saw Black Eagle sprinting down the shoreline, darting toward them, though he was stooped over as he ran. As soon as he reached them, he fell to the ground.

“You must be so quiet that even a mouse would not hear you—we are going to seek cover. Perhaps they didn't see you or hear you. Using only your elbows we are going to crawl to the bushes. Do you understand? Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Both women nodded.

He led the procession, scooting inch by inch toward the shelter of the trees that lined the shore. Immediately, the scent of the earth and the feel of the sharp rocks as they scrapped at her hands and at her skirts became as real as the danger they were facing.