Red Bird's Song (25 page)

"For her? Damn right."

The other men circled them. “You ain't got a rat's chance, Jack,” one said. “Let Reed be. He'll whup your ass."

Reed fixed his shrewd gaze on Charity. “I surely will. But a fight would slow us. Give your man time to find you before dark. And I'd have to put you down, so you can run."

His perception shook her and she stared at him mutely.

"Clever,” he grunted.

Jack's face reddened. He drew back his hand to strike her. “You bitch. Playing us off against each other."

Reed threw out a big hand and blocked the intended blow. “No one touches her without my leave. You got that?"

Jack's lips curled down, but he gave a sullen nod.

"All you men clear on this?” Reed demanded, and the other five nodded. “Still want me to put you down, little girl?"

She turned away from his smirk.
God, send Mechee.

The orange sun hung low in the west and cast its final rays through the darkening woods. Only then did the men stop in a clearing to make camp. Night was almost upon her, Charity realized in dismay. She'd been in Reed's grasp for several hideous hours. Though he'd said little, his straying hands left her in no doubt of his unspeakable intentions.

Water splashed over stones not far from where she was, probably just over that dip beyond the hemlocks. If she reached the stream, she could soon lose herself among the evergreens, and then double back toward camp. How else was she to escape? She'd seen no sign of Wicomechee or Colin and feared they hadn't caught up yet. And when they did, there were seven men to route. And one was a giant.

Reed finally loosed his loathsome hold and lowered her to the grass. “May I have a drink?” she asked.

"Nice try. Won't work."

She met his lewd grin. “Are you denying me water? Even your animals drink."

"Please me first then drink all you want."

Jack glared at her with squinty eyes. “Bitch owes me."

"Bitch ain't the word I'd use for this beauty."

"She didn't trick you."

"No,” Reed snorted, “and she won't. You'll get your share, but you treat her right or you'll answer to me."

Outrage flashed in Charity like fire set to dry kindling. They spoke of her as if she were no more than a chicken to be divided among them. “What sort of woman do you think I am!” she shouted up at Reed.

He grinned. “The best sort."

"Do you fear no punishment for your vile crimes?"

"The closest fort is days back through these mountains. Or are you dragging me into court?” he snickered.

"What of God? Do you not fear him?"

"Save your preaching for Jack. He likes a good sermon."

Jack and the others had tethered the horses and were removing their packs. “I'd like to give you a bloody sermon, Reed,” Jack sniped at him. “And a good hiding to go with it."

"Shut your mouth, or I'll give you one,” Reed hushed him. “Leave me be. The lot of you."

Six pairs of eyes narrowed at him like malevolent bulls.

Ignoring them, he caught Charity back up. She beat on his chest, shoulders, anything in reach, even boxed his ear as he carried her across the clearing. “You can't do this!"

"How do you aim to stop me?” He cast his musket aside and laid her down in a grassy spot surrounded on three sides by boulders. “Don't need them looking on,” he muttered.

This was his notion of privacy, she realized, and sprang to her feet. “I don't belong to you!"

He grasped her shoulders and threw her down onto the ground. The impact knocked the wind from her. “Mechee will track us—” she gasped out, scrambling to roll away.

Reed forced her onto her back and pinned her arms over her head. “Your man's a natural born fool bringing you here."

"He'll kill you, just as he did Paxton!"

"Neville Paxton? That useless son of a bitch. I should thank him for doing us a favor, just before I return it."

"No!” she shrieked, fearing just that.

She thrashed beneath Reed as he climbed on her. Even without bringing his weight fully down, his massive size threatened to crush her. If his organ were as big as he was, he'd tear her apart. “Get off me!"

A volley of musket fire burst around them in smoky fury.

"Shit!” Reed hissed in her ear against the guttural cries of the wounded. He rolled to the side of her, grabbed up his musket, and crouched behind the largest stone.

Here was the moment Charity had longed for—her chance to flee. She leapt to her feet, but hesitated, and scanned the clearing. One man writhed on the ground, a second lay still. Blood pooled around them. The others scattered for cover. She scanned the trees. Two familiar heads peered around a broad oak, their muskets aimed at the scrambling figures. She glanced at Reed's slitted-eyes. He'd caught sight of her rescuers too.

"Goddamned warriors.” He raised his musket and aimed the barrel at the dearest head in the world.

But Wicomechee's keen gaze was on Jack. He fired and hurled him screaming to the ground. Jack flopped fitfully, then nothing. Reed cocked the trigger.

Heedless of her own safety, Charity flew at the giant and shoved the heavy barrel up with her hands. The musket discharged harmlessly over her husband's head.

Reed whipped around. “Indian-loving bitch!"

He swung his hand and cracked her across the cheek. She felt the stinging blow as she reeled backwards—but only for an instant. Blinding pain shot through her head as she collided with the stone and crumbled at its base.

She breathed out a single word. “Mechee.” And darkness closed in.

With a howl of deepest anguish and blackest rage, Wicomechee flung down his musket and grabbed his tomahawk. Before the big Long Knife could reload, he sprang at him.

Clenching his own tomahawk, the giant rushed to meet him. Brown eyes burned above his broad nose and black beard. “I'll send you to hell, you Shawnee bastard!"

"Hell waits for you,” Wicomechee growled, circling him with the intensity of a panther eyeing its prey. He ducked the razor-sharp edge. Reed might be far larger, but his reflexes weren't as fast. One slip on Wicomechee's part could prove fatal and he was desperate to get to Charity. Forcing himself to concentrate, he watched for an opening.

Again, he dodged the razor-sharp blade and whirled around. With a slicing blow, he cut his tomahawk into Reed's shoulder and rendered that arm far less powerful.

Reed bellowed, his arm awash with blood. Wicomechee wanted to sever the hand that had dealt the blow to Charity. So still she lay. Her silence called to him unbearably.

Again, he tore his mind from her and circled his wounded adversary. He closed in, tomahawk raised.

Reed's meaty fist shot out and caught him on the jaw. Ears ringing, his chin throbbing, Wicomechee staggered back. He shook off the blow and jumped aside as Reed's blade stung across his chest, slashing his shirt and grazing his skin.

"Not fast enough, old man,” Wicomechee snarled.

Blood trailed warmth down his chest, but the demon Long Knife was far more stained. Wicomechee kicked out and hurled Reed back a few stumbling steps. Seizing the opportunity, he struck his bad arm again.

Reed screamed, dropping the tomahawk with useless fingers. But he showed no intention of awaiting his death when one good hand remained.

With the wrath of an injured grizzly, he charged and grasped Wicomechee by the throat. Fingers like saplings tightened around his neck. The mountainous bulk forced him back toward the ground. He struck wildly at Reed's back. The blade didn't cut in deeply enough to finish him. Struggling under the crushing weight, gasping for air, he went down.

Reed bent over him, eyes lit with hate. “Got you now, you bloody savage,” he panted. “You killed my friends. I'm gonna choke the life out of you, Mechee. That's your name, ain't it? You're the Mechee she cried for."

Reed's sneer blurred in a red haze and Wicomechee envisioned Charity's tearful eyes seeking him, her mouth crying his name. Would she wake to find him dead and Reed hovered over her?

"Stupid bitch,” Reed ground out.

The foul word fueled a surge of rage in Wicomechee that flooded new strength through him. He glimpsed the shock in Reed's tight face as he threw him off and scrambled to his feet. “Red Bird is all that's good! All that's sweet!"

He could have lifted the giant over his head and tossed him down a ravine. Instead, he struck her abductor with his fists and drove him back—ever back. He drew his knife. And lunged, thrusting it up between the stunned man's ribs. “Die with her name in your ears. Red Bird. My wife."

A choking grunt rushed from the giant and he slumped forward with a rasping gurgle. His inert body pressed heavily against Wicomechee. He shoved Reed off and he thumped to the ground. Red with blood, breathing raggedly, he staggered to Charity.

She lay where she'd fallen beside the treacherous stone. She could be fast asleep but for the unnatural way she was positioned, her body tucked up, face so white, except for the ugly purplish-red mark on her forehead and the welt on her cheek. Terror unlike anything he'd ever known seared him. He could battle a hundred men and not feel as weak as he did now.

He knelt and pressed trembling fingers to her throat. He found her pulse. Not strong. Blackest dread gripped him as he touched crimson-stained fingers to the evil bruise on her forehead. This injury wasn't one he possessed the knowledge to cure. He doubted even the wisest medicine man did. She lay beyond the reach of any healing root or plant.

Wrenching grief tore through him. Reed might as well have plunged the knife into his heart. With a cry from his innermost depths, Wicomechee gathered her in his arms. “Don't leave me, Red Bird. I am with you and will not leave you."

He sagged back against the stone cradling Charity to him.

Time lost all meaning. He had no idea how long he remained like that...minutes or hours. He only knew that all color and joy had gone from his world. Revenge brought him no peace. All that mattered now was the faintly beating heart of the woman he clutched. And he dared not let go. If he did, she would surely fly away. Somehow, he must will her to stay.

His will was strong. “Stay with me, Red Bird. Stay with me.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks and over her chilled face. Again and again, he entreated her and kissed her cool cheeks.

Dusk cloaked the trees when Posetha walked through the clearing and stopped before Wicomechee. He regarded him through his tears. Posetha's gaze dipped to Charity.

"I left none alive,” he said, his voice weighted with pain.

Wicomechee nodded. It made no difference now.

"Red Bird, she lives?"

"Just.” Wicomechee waved at the body of the man who had caused this black despair. “Get the big Long Knife from my sight."

Posetha grasped Reed by the ankles and dragged his grisly bulk behind the hemlocks. He hauled the other corpses across the grass to join him, each one swallowed up by the shadows. Wicomechee hugged Charity to his heart as Posetha built a fire. Then his friend took two blankets from the packs and held one out to Wicomechee.

He carefully wrapped Charity in the woolen cloth. “She dislikes the cold,” he said dully.

Posetha draped another blanket around Wicomechee's shoulders, and sat beside him. Neither of them spoke. The wind whispered in the trees. The first stars appeared overhead. More came out until the whole sky glittered with lights—lights Charity should've shared with him. Her excited voice did not rise at the blazing streak that arched across the sky. The lonely brilliance seared Wicomechee's soul.

Distant wolves howled at the great moon rising through leafless branches. One full moon circle had passed since Wicomechee first took Charity captive. In that time she'd come to mean all to him. He softly kissed her cold face. “Do not fear the wolf, Red Bird. Posetha has made a fire."

"Perhaps she knows it burns,” Posetha offered.

"Who can say?"

Night wore on, as did their sorrowful vigil. Wicomechee reached under the blanket and clasped her limp fingers. She should have squeezed his in return. He remembered the first time she'd pressed her uncertain lips to his and tears flowed unrestrainedly. He hadn't thought she'd find the courage to kiss him, but she had, and he thought of that blissful night only a few days ago when she'd joined herself to him. Each precious memory twisted the knife more deeply into his tortured heart until he groaned in anguish.

"I gave my promise to protect her. Yet she saved my life. I failed her."

Posetha clasped his shoulder. “We could not strike any sooner. You saw how closely the Long Knife held her."

Bitter rage seethed in Wicomechee's despair. “And how he touched her, my sweet wife. I should have fallen, not her."

"Red Bird's love for you is great, Wicomechee. She would not want to weep over you. Would you wish this pain on her?"

"Never. The big Long Knife swore to send me to hell. He has succeeded. Am I not in torment?"

"She breathes still,” Posetha reasoned.

"So faint is that breath. How can I help her?” Wicomechee pressed his cheek to Charity's cold skin. Never had he felt so desperate. “She grows more chilled. I am losing her. If she flies I will swiftly follow."

"No. You, alone, carry the blood of your grandfather. If you take your life, will not his heart be torn from him?"

"As mine will be if I must live without her."

"Are you not my dearest friend and brother to Waupee? How can we bear to lose you? Be strong,” Posetha pleaded.

An owl hooted overhead. He and Posetha sucked in their breath and stared at each other. Firelight bared Posetha's dismay, his face a reflection of the icy horror that had laid hold of Wicomechee.

As if in response to this dark omen, Charity uttered one barely audible word. “Craig."

Wicomechee gripped her. “No. Do not fly to Craig, Red Bird. Come back to me. Charity—” Choking on her name, he turned to his friend. “I must pray. Have you tobacco?"

"Take all.” Posetha spilled the fragrant leaves from his pouch.

Wicomechee snatched up the sacred leaves and cast them into the fire. The pungent tobacco mixed with the wood smoke. He followed the ascending smoke through tear-blurred eyes. “
Manito,
hear me. Do not take my wife. Spare her life. Was it not you who gave Red Bird into my hands?"