Candace McCarthy (20 page)

Joanna turned from the mating pair, and quietly made her escape.

“What was that?” Gillian gasped as John rolled off her, satiated, spent.

“It’s nothing, Gillian.” He reached to fondle her breast, but she evaded him.

“No,” she insisted. “I heard something. Like an animal in the brush.” She bit her lip as she sat up, and looked around nervously. “Or the sound of someone running away.”

“Joanna.” His heart beating hard, John scrambled to his feet, and tugged up his breeches.

“No,” she whispered as she, too, rose, and quickly put herself to rights.

They moved toward the campsite, and within seconds saw the empty sleeping pallet. Joanna Neville was gone.

“Oh, God, no,” Gillian cried. “I wonder if she saw us.”

Teeth clamped shut, John strode over to the sleeping fur trapper. He scowled down at him. “Brown!” He kicked the man in the side. “Brown!”

“What?” The fur trapper awoke groggily as he was kicked a second time. “What the hell are you doing, Burton?” he growled.

“Where is she?” John demanded. “Where is Joanna?”

The man seemed startled as he glanced toward the empty sleeping pallet. “I don’t know.” He looked at the couple, and narrowed his gaze. “Where have you been that you didn’t hear her leave?”

“I heard her,” John said, “but it was too late to do anything about it.”

“Is that so?” Brown said. “Then which way did she go?” He saw the red staining the woman’s cheeks and smirked. “Seems to me that if you’d been in your bed instead of swivin’ the dear lady’s friend, your Joanna would be still asleep, safe and sound.”

“Why, you—” John launched himself at the fur trapper. Gillian screamed as he felt the satisfaction of his fist hitting flesh. He heard her wild shriek just before he felt the blow to his face that knocked him on his buttocks.

John gazed up at the man, stunned by the power behind the old man’s punch.

“I’m not responsible for your lady friends,” Brown spat, glaring. He cast a disdainful look at Gillian. “Neither one of them.”

“John, no!” Gillian cried as John lumbered to his feet, and put up his hands in a fighting stance. “What about Joanna? She couldn’t have gone very far.”

John froze as if what she had said made sense. He lowered his fists, and stepped backward. “Sorry, Brown. Guess I got carried away.” His apology was clumsy, oafish. He extended his hand in friendship toward the guide.

Brown stared at the man’s hand a long moment before accepting the handshake. “If we leave now, we’ll be able to find her,” he said gruffly.

The young man nodded. He needed the old fur trapper or else he’d have done away with him when he’d first realized that Joanna had gone. He refused to believe that he himself had anything to do with Joanna’s disappearance. She’d been determined to go, he thought. He should have been more alert, more wary of her apparent humility. How could he have forgotten Joanna’s stubborn pride?

“Let’s go then,” he said as he bent to roll up his own sleeping pallet. He didn’t bother to help Gillian who struggled to fold up her own. “Hurry, Gillian,” he snapped.

Gillian paused with tears in her eyes. Then she obeyed him while she silently cursed the day she’d decided that John Burton was the only man for her.

 

 

Joanna ran, but her skirts hindered her. Gasping, she halted, struggled out of her gown, then started to run in only her shift. It was warm; she wasn’t worried about taking a chill. The insects of the night might bite her, but earlier she had used some of the Indians’ bear grease to protect her exposed skin. The only parts of her that might get bitten were the areas she’d been unable to reach under her clothes.

She didn’t know if she was going the right way. She didn’t care; her only concern was to escape.

Gillian and John are lovers
! she thought. She felt a sharp pain as she recalled what she’d seen.
Gillian, how could you?

She swept past brush and trees, tangling in sticker bushes, but she kept going as fear settled in her breast. No doubt John and Gillian would have discovered her absence. Would they come after her?

She recalled John’s actions with the gun.
He’ll come after me,
she thought.

She began to run faster, tripping once over a fallen tree branch, picking herself up, and continuing on.

And then she heard it ... the sound of someone in the forest, slashing through brush and leaves.

She changed direction in the hope that she could trick her pursuer. Then she slunk low in the midst of forest foliage.

Her breath coming hard, she waited, listening; the only sounds were her heart thumping wildly in her chest and her lungs struggling for air.

“Come out, Joanna.” John’s voice so close startled her. Fearful, she rose, backed into some thorn bushes, and gasped with pain.

He was suddenly there, reaching in to grab her arm, dragging her from the briars, heedless or uncaring of the barbs that pierced her.

She struggled to get away, but he was too strong for her. Then Thomas Brown was behind her, holding her arms while John scolded and glared at her.

“You shouldn’t have tried to leave,” John said, his voice soft. Too soft. “I told you there are dangerous things in the forest.” He raised his hand, and she cringed, expecting to be slapped. She was amazed when he ordered Thomas to release her arms . . . and she was free . . . free!

She rubbed her arms where the fur trapper had gripped her tightly, and studied John.

“You saw us—Gillian and me,” John said quietly.

She nodded, glaring.

“That’s unfortunate. We didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world . . . only a man has certain needs. I didn’t expect you to fill them . . . not before our wedding.”

“I can’t marry you,” she said, throwing caution to the wind.

“Yes, you can and you will. You’ll realize that once again I was only thinking of you . . . of protecting you, keeping you safe.”

“Please, John, you don’t want to marry me.” She heard movement as Gillian came out of the forest to join them in the tiny clearing. “You should marry
her,”
she snapped.

“Joanna,” Gillian began, contrite.

“Silence!” John barked at her, making her blanch. The first light of dawn had broken the dense darkness of the night sky. Joanna stared at the three people she had foolishly left the Lenape village with, and felt ill.

“Let me go back to the village, John. If you can lie with Gillian, you can’t possibly have any affection for me.”

He laughed. “I care for you. What more do you want?” He shook his head as he pulled out his pistol.

“No, John,” Gillian gasped.

He ignored her. “If you don’t come with us easily, peacefully, I’ll have to kill you. ’Tis for your own good. You could die a worse death. You could get eaten by a bear, or be ravished by savages....”

She snorted. The Indians didn’t rape women. They believed that to do so would conjure up bad spirits, and give the women an unwelcome evil power over them. “The Lenape would never hurt me.”

“Let’s go,” John ordered everyone, pointing the way back to camp with his gun. “Move!”

Thomas and Gillian went first with Joanna following. John with his gun was behind her.

Joanna stared at her former best friend, and felt bitter acid rise up to clog her throat. Gillian’s betrayal hurt worst of all. She had loved and trusted Gillian since she was a child. She had thought they shared a special bond . . . the bond of friendship and love.

But Gillian had eyes and love for only a madman. For John Burton was mad, Joanna realized. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Or had it just happened? Had something occurred onboard ship that had changed him, something that she didn’t know about?

She trudged before him because she had no other choice. He had a gun at her back and her life in his hands, but she would be free of him. Somehow, someway, she’d be gone. Soon.

When they reached the campsite, the sleeping pallets had been rolled in readiness for traveling. The fire had been put out, and, as she watched, Thomas Brown wiped out all signs of evidence of their presence.

Fireheart,
Joanna thought, silently calling his name.
I need you.

But Fireheart wouldn’t come, she mused, dispirited. He would be getting ready to marry his new bride. His attention would be on Moon Dove.

 

 

Fireheart and Rising Bird found a campsite the next day. They had traveled for hours, not stopping to rest, continuing on during the night and day. They halted when they reached the clearing where they had been led by trail marks.

Someone had tried to erase all signs of their stay. Fireheart, studying the campsite, thought what a poor job they’d done . . . or had someone done it intentionally?

Joanna? His breath lodged in his throat as he pictured her frightened and alone with an abusive and evil man.
A man like her uncle,
he thought.

Mary had learned the true nature of Joanna’s life with Roderick Neville. From the things Joanna had told her cousin combined with the secrets she’d confided to him, Fireheart and Mary had learned the true extent of the young girl’s suffering in England. Joanna had been ripped from her home and sent to another world, a world of unhappiness.

Mary had cried as they’d spoken. Fireheart had tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t be consoled. She stopped sobbing only when she’d learned about Fireheart’s plan to go after Joanna. He told her that he would bring Joanna back to the village. Then they could give Autumn Wind the choice of staying or going.

Fireheart found tiny particles of ashes in the dry dust of the forest floor. He held them to his nose and sniffed, then dropped the handful of dirt and ash.

Rising Bird had left the main area of the camp to wander outside the site, looking for clues to the traveling party’s direction.

The brave returned with his features tight with anxiety, his expression grave. “Someone tried to run from this place,” he said. “There are signs of an escape. I followed it for some time, and found this.”

He lifted his arm, and Fireheart felt the air whoosh from his chest as he saw the garment. Joanna’s gown.

Fireheart crossed to take the dress and examine it. The gown wasn’t torn, which meant that Joanna might have removed it willingly . . . unless someone had held a gun to her.

He scowled, tensing. He fisted a hand at his side as he passed the gown back to Rising Bird.

“Where did they go?” Fireheart said.

Rising Bird narrowed his gaze, and approached an area outside the immediate clearing. “This way, I think,” he said, pointing.

Fireheart agreed. He led with Rising Bird following. He didn’t offer to carry Joanna’s gown nor did the other warrior expect it. They didn’t leave it behind for Joanna might need it when they found her.

 

 

“Joanna, I’m sorry.”

Joanna glared at her former friend. “You’re a fool to trust him, Gillian. He’s an evil man. I don’t know why he is acting horrible except that he is crazy.”

“He is not crazy!” Gillian defended with the naivete of someone blinded by love. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

“Obviously not,” Joanna said with sarcasm.

Her friend blushed. “You saw us.”

She nodded. “It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Gillian was mortified. “I love him,” she explained.

“And what of his marriage proposal to me? What were you going to do after we wed?” Joanna narrowed her gaze as she studied the young woman. “You were going to continue to see him behind my back.” She felt deeply hurt by Gillian’s betrayal. She had trusted Gillian. Where was the loyalty, the love?

“John said—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t say it! I can imagine what John said.”

“No, it’s not like that. Our love is not sordid!” Gillian cried.

“Did he tell you he loved you, Gillian?”

Her eyes misting, she opened her mouth to answer. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“I cannot remember! But he has shown me in many ways.”

“I’ll wager he did,” Joanna mumbled sarcastically. Her tone grew serious. “Gillian, it’s not losing John that bothers me, it’s losing you for a friend. Friends don’t betray each other!”

“I know,” her friend whispered. “But I mean it sincerely when I say I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“If John cares for you, why does he want to marry me?”

The two women were alone while Thomas Brown and John searched the nearby woods for food. Joanna knew she could be frank without incurring John’s wrath—“Mad John,” as she now thought of him.

“Burton Estates is in trouble. With your late uncle’s assets, the brothers’ livelihood and land would be saved.”

“And you found that to be a suitable reason for him to marry your best friend?”

“He said we could still be together—”

“In a little cottage of your own perhaps?” Joanna taunted. Clicking her tongue, she shook her head. “What will your dear father think of all this?”

Twin red spots of anger appeared on each of Gillian’s cheeks. “Leave my father out of this!”

“You aren’t concerned what he will think of your being John Burton’s mistress, and not his wife?” Joanna saw the way Gillian’s hands balled into fists in her lap. “Or doesn’t he like John?”

Gillian gasped as if Joanna had hit an open wound. “Father doesn’t understand him.”

“I think he does. He recognized John’s kind.” Joanna continued to taunt her former friend. “I must admit I myself was fooled into believing him my friend. No wonder he was happy to watch over Neville Manor for me.”

“Stop!” Gillian cried. “I don’t want to hear any more of this!”

“Well, you will hear it often, and you will listen,” Joanna badgered, “unless you’ll help me to leave.” She sat up straighter, and placed a hand on Gillian’s arm. “Help me escape, and you’ll have John to yourself if you actually still want him.”