Candace McCarthy (5 page)

Broken Bow is Little Blossom’s husband.
He was a handsome brave as he had been as a boy, but Joanna thought he paled in comparison to the one called Fireheart.

When she was fourteen, the older boys had made her feel special, watching her as she walked past them and smiled, pleased when they grinned back at her.

But the only one who had looked at her with the longing she’d wished to see in the others’ expressions was Yellow Deer. But Yellow Deer had been too young, she’d decided all those years ago. She had treated him without regard to his tender feelings.

Fireheart was Yellow Deer!

Was it any wonder that the man disliked her? As she remembered the past, so did he.

He still thinks that I am the same thoughtless person,
she mused.

Should she apologize for her childhood behavior? For injuring a boy without concern for his tender feelings?

I hurt him,
she realized with remorse. She had been young and foolish then, before the receipt of her uncle’s letter had turned her world upside down, before she’d been sent to England.

She was more cognizant of others’ feelings now, she thought. Being manipulated and feeling unloved. did that to a person. It stripped the joy and optimism from one’s life. It had changed her forever.

She tossed and turned on her sleeping mat, conscious of Harry’s snoring on the other side of the animal-skin curtain . . . of the soft murmuring and stirrings of her maid Cara as she slept.

I must talk with him and apologize,
she thought. It was the least she could do ... to admit when she’d behaved badly.

With that resolved, she felt the tension leave her and her thoughts drift as she grew sleepy. She slept and began to dream....

“Mary?” She paused to wait for her cousin’s reaction to her appearance. Mary had taken her handiwork outside. Today, the woman worked with clay to make a new baking pot. She was pounding the clay, grinding it to a fine meal, taking out all the rocks, stones, and sticks that had
been
dug up with it from the earth. Next, she would add water, and knead the mixture until it could be shaped and then dried.

Relieved that she hadn’t immediately been scolded, Joanna shook her head. “No, I thought I’d make myself look pretty.
”

She took the piece of jewelry and examined it. It was lovely, made of copper beads, shells, and animal teeth. “It’s
utiissa,”
she said sincerely. It was pretty, beautiful in fact.

He beamed, but she frowned and gave it back. “But
I
can’t accept it. ”

The next morning when Joanna woke up, her thoughts returned with guilt and regret to Fireheart. Her stomach filled with butterflies as she wondered whether or not she could follow through with her decision to apologize.

As she stepped outside the wigwam, the first thing she saw was Moon Dove and Fireheart together, speaking quietly by the community cook-fire. They each held a bowl with their share of food from the huge kettle that had been heated over the flame. The Lenni Lenape prepared two meals in their wigwams. At other times during the day when they were hungry, they took their meal from the community pot that had been prepared by the village matrons.

Joanna felt an odd little pain in her chest as she continued to observe the smiling couple.

Little Blossom’s words returned to her.
Fireheart is expected to marry Moon Dove.

She turned away from the disturbing sight.

Joanna still hadn’t seen Fireheart when she went in to visit with Wild Squirrel the next day. To her delight, the chief was sitting up in bed, eating some thin corn gruel.

“Wild Squirrel, Grandfather, it is good to see you awake,” she said softly as she approached his sleeping platform.

The old man frowned as he focused his gaze. She could tell he recognized her when he glanced at her reddish-blonde hair and smiled.

“Autumn Wind, could that be you?” he said in Lenape. “Is it possible that you have returned to us?”

She nodded. “It is Autumn Wind.”

“Come. Sit and talk with this old man.”

“You are not that old, Grandfather.”

“I am a tired old man, little one,” he said with such sadness that it made her heart ache.

“Don’t talk like that. We need you. The Lenape people need you.”

Wild Squirrel shook his head. “They have Fireheart. He will make our people a good leader.”

“I’m sure he is in no hurry to become chief,” she said although she didn’t know Fireheart enough to be certain of anything.

The chief sighed. “This is true. He wants me to live a long life.” He set his bowl of gruel aside without finishing it. “It is up to the Great Spirit to decide if I shall continue as chief, or join our brothers in the Spirit World.”

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t say that.”

“You sound like Fireheart.”

If Fireheart felt half of what she felt when Wild Squirrel spoke that way, then Joanna realized that she and the brave had more in common than a childhood.

Silence reigned between them for a time, but it was a companionable quiet, marred only by the realization of the chief’s failing health.

Joanna placed her fingers over his hand where it lay on the sleeping platform. “You must rest and take care of yourself,” she said.

“I am tired of resting, almost as much as I am tired of living.”

Joanna was alarmed by the old man’s pessimism. Something was terribly wrong. Was he right? Had he guessed that his end was near? Was that why he was reluctant to get up and resume his chiefly duties?

“Are you in pain?” she asked him. “Shall I get Raven Wing?”

He shook his head. “Do not call the shaman. There is nothing he can do.” He tried to sit taller and winced.

Joanna rose, anxious to find someone who could help. Fireheart? she wondered. “I shall get you fresh water to drink.” Then she hurried from the wigwam before he could stop her. Her throat tight with tears, Joanna went to look for Fireheart.

It didn’t take long for Joanna to find Fireheart. Grateful to learn he was so near, she hurried to his side and quickly got his attention. “Wild Squirrel needs you” was all she said.

Fireheart abruptly finished his conversation with another brave and hurried toward the chief’s wigwam.

“I think he is in pain, but he won’t say. There is something wrong,” she said as she struggled to keep up with him. “I can feel it.”

He flashed her an unreadable look and continued on. He tugged up the deer flap covering Wild Squirrel’s doorway and stepped inside. Joanna stuck out her hand to catch the flap so it wouldn’t shut behind him. As she entered the wigwam, her gaze went to the old man in bed.

Fireheart was speaking in low tones with the chief. Joanna couldn’t make out the Lenape words. She stayed just inside the door, concerned but unwilling to intrude.

“I told her I was fine,” Wild Squirrel said to his nephew.

“You don’t look well.” Fireheart studied his uncle critically. “What hurts?”

The chief scowled. “Nothing.” Seeing Joanna by the door, he waved her forward. “You did not listen to me,” he scolded affectionately.

She smiled at his tone. “You are stubborn, Grandfather. I thought Fireheart would make you listen as I could not.”

Wild Squirrel eyed his nephew with fondness. “I am an old tired man. Leave me to rest in peace.”

Fireheart felt a trickle of alarm. Glancing at Joanna, he saw that she shared his fear about the chief. “I—” He clasped Joanna’s arm. “We,” he corrected himself, “will leave once we know you are comfortable. I will have Raven Wing make you that special healing tea of his.”

“I will drink it if you will let me be,” Wild Squirrel promised.

Joanna’s eyes met Fireheart’s and sent a silent message.
Agree,
she urged him. She was conscious of the warmth of his fingers above her arm as he nodded in understanding. After he made his answer clear, he silently released her.

Joanna slipped from the wigwam to find the Lenape shaman, her concern with Wild Squirrel . . . but her skin still tingled where it had known Fireheart’s touch.

 

 

Joanna waited outside Wild Squirrel’s wigwam for Fireheart to emerge. It had been some time since the shaman had entered, and she wondered what was happening inside.

Finally, after what seemed a long while, the door flap was lifted, and Fireheart came out.

“How is he?” she asked with concern.

The brave looked at her blankly. As his expression cleared, he appeared surprised to see her.

“He is sleeping. Raven Wing has eased his pain.”

Joanna felt relieved. She waited for Fireheart to say more, and was disappointed when he didn’t. She wanted to talk with him. Was this the right time? she wondered.

Fireheart stared at her for a long moment, and the thundering of her own heartbeat filled the awkward silence.

“May I speak with you?” she asked.

He frowned. “There’s nothing to say.”

“I think there is,” Joanna said softly.

“About Wild Squirrel?”

“Maata.”
No. “This isn’t about Wild Squirrel. I have something to say to you. I owe you an apology.”

The brave regarded her skeptically. “For what?”

“You don’t like me, and I think I know why.” Joanna wanted desperately to offer this man friendship.

“I do not dislike you.” Fireheart turned as if to leave.

“Fireheart! ”

But the brave kept walking.

“Fireheart,” Joanna cried again.
“Yellow Deer!”

Fireheart froze and slowly turned to face her. “You know who I am.” He approached, his gaze narrowing, his lips a firm line.

Joanna studied the man before her, and tried to see the boy that he had been. But there was no hint of the adoring Yellow Deer in Fireheart’s hardened gaze. Nor was his smile apparent on his sensual male lips. “Little Blossom told me,” she confessed.

Her explanation seemed to darken his expression further. “You did not see for yourself,” he said coldly.

She shook her head. “But you don’t look the same!” she exclaimed when she saw his scowl.

His smile was grim. “That is because Yellow Deer and Fireheart are not the same brave.”

“I must have hurt your feelings badly,” Joanna said softly.

“You are mistaken. I have no feelings for you.” Then, Fireheart walked away.

Stunned by his coldheartedness, Joanna could only watch him leave as tears filled her eyes.

 

 

Fireheart’s open hostility toward her upset Joanna greatly. She was so disturbed that she decided to seek out Mary in the hope that her cousin would help her understand.

She had been in the village for over a fortnight. Her relationship with Mary hadn’t improved much since her arrival. Joanna felt torn. She was trapped between the past and the present. Her painful years with her uncle made it difficult for her to forgive Mary for sending her away, but her childhood memories made her long for the comfort of her cousin’s love.

It was her childhood memories that were uppermost in her mind as she headed toward Mary and Rising Bird’s lodge. She recalled the day that Mary had first come for her. Joanna’s mother had died and she’d been given into the care of neighbors by the local Methodist minister. The Smiths had been good people, but they had had little enough money to raise their own five children. Joanna would never forget how Mary had appeared like an angel, sent by her own deceased mother to come and care for her.

With the image clear in her mind, Joanna paused outside of Mary’s wigwam, hesitant about entering. Since her arrival, Joanna had treated her cousin as if she were an unwelcome stranger. How could she have forgotten how kind Mary had been?

Then why did she send me away?
Joanna was confused.
Mary seemed to love me. Did I. do something wrong to make her angry with me?

Joanna called out her cousin’s name without entering. When there was no answer from the other side of the deer-flap door, she left, disappointed. Either Mary was gone or she didn’t want to see Joanna. Joanna thought that Mary had probably gone to work in the fields. Should she go there and see?

She felt a sudden nervous fluttering within her breast. Her visit with Wild Squirrel and her encounter with Fireheart had taken a toll on her. She’d lost all desire for confrontation that day. Joanna decided to return to her wigwam where she might have a few minutes alone.

Her head began to throb. Right now she couldn’t deal with Mary or Fireheart. She attempted to banish Fireheart from her mind. And Mary? Well, she would just have to talk with her cousin later.

She had another decision to make. There was the matter of when she’d return to England. Her servants were anxious to leave. Joanna, on the other hand, had a strange reluctance to go. But Neville Manor waited, and she couldn’t expect her good friend John Burton to manage the estate forever when he had his own concerns. His brother Michael might need him.

She needed to go back to England, she thought, before John, in his caring concern, sent a search party after her.

 

 

“Miss Gordon is here to see you, sir,” the manservant announced.

John Burton stood. “Thank you, Charles. Would you show her in?”

Charles bowed, then left to do the man’s bidding. Within seconds, Gillian Gordon stood in the library doorway.

“Hello, John. Have you heard from Joanna?”

“Gillian,” he said softly, “come in.” His gaze narrowed when he saw Charles hovering behind her. “You may go, Charles. I shall not need you for anything more this afternoon. Just have Ellen bring us a pot of tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles said, then left.

“Won’t you sit down?” John invited, gesturing toward a leather chair.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly as she carefully took a seat.

There was an awkward moment of silence between John and Gillian until the maid Ellen brought in the tea, and set it on the tea table within reach of Gillian.

John politely thanked Ellen, then told the servant that she and the household staff had the rest of the afternoon free.

Surprised yet obviously pleased by the news, Ellen curtsied to the pair, then hurriedly left to enjoy her unexpected holiday.

Without being asked, Gillian poured the tea while John went to quietly close and lock the library door.

When he returned to Gillian, the young woman held out a cup of steaming fragrant tea. He accepted the cup and took a sip. “Delicious,” he murmured, meeting her gaze. “ ’Tis just how I like it.”

She smiled and sipped from her own teacup. Both were quiet as they enjoyed their tea until John finished his cup and set it down on the tea table with a clatter.

Gillian, startled by the sound, glanced up at him. John studied her with a look that made her heart thunder within her breast. The thunder became a raging roar in her ears as John removed her unfinished cup from her hands, and set it carefully next to his.

“Gillian,” he rasped, reaching for her hand. She swallowed hard. She had waited with sweet anticipation for this moment, and now that it was here, she could scarcely contain her joy.

“Come here,” he urged huskily. John jerked her from her chair and into his arms. He lowered his head. His mouth captured hers in a kiss of passion so hot that she moaned and sagged weakly against him.

When he released her mouth, there was a glazed look in his blue eyes. Her lips curved as Gillian held his gaze. Her smile became a gasp of pleasure as he settled his hands on her breasts, cupping the soft responsive mounds through the fabric of her bodice. When he fumbled to free her from her gown, Gillian cried out with encouragement and helped him. Then they struggled to undo his shirt.

Within minutes, they were on the floor, naked, their tea and pastries forgotten. Neither man nor woman gave any thought to Joanna, the woman who owned this room and this house. Amid harsh male grunts and soft feminine cries, the world around them faded as they sought to heighten and satisfy their sexual pleasures.

With the mistress of the house and her servants gone, the couple made love in the library first, then moved to start again in every room.