Red Bird's Song (30 page)

"It is good you speak this, for I will not allow you to."

"Take good care of her, as I swear I would have done. And now, if you no longer wish to strike me down, I will return to Outhowwa's campfire."

"Hold on a minute, Buchanan,” Waupee summoned. “Your insult to my lady, and consequently to me, still remains."

"I apologize for my poor behavior, Emma. Please forgive me,” Rob said with far more humility than he had before.

"I already have."

"You are fortunate to find her so forbearing, else I would be honor bound to demand satisfaction,” Waupee said.

"I'm as grateful as a miserable wretch can be, sir."

"Oh, go on. Take that long face back to Outhowwa."

"That'll cheer me up no end,” Rob muttered, his voice trailing off with his muffled tread.

Waupee nudged Charity's arm. “You can come to now, little sister. He's gone."

She opened her eyes. “How did you know I was faking?"

Waupee smiled. “The way you angled that swoon toward Rob. You're quite the actress."

She looked up at Wicomechee. “Did you also know?"

He gently reproached her. “Yes. Though not so soon as Waupee. I feared much for you."

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't have the pair of you lighting into Rob. Do you think he noticed?"

"No. You are too clever.” And weaker than Wicomechee cared to contemplate. She might have pretended that swoon, but it could easily have been real. It would take all his strength to preserve her.

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Chapter Nineteen

Charity stared from atop Stuart at the dozens of bark-covered lodges spreading along the banks of the Scioto River. Smoke rising from the openings in their roofs drifted up into the cold blue sky. What she'd expected the village to be like she couldn't have said, but so many lodges overwhelmed her. “I'd no idea the village would be so big, like a city."

Emma's blond head nodded in front of her. “We've never been to an English city, let alone one filled with Indians."

Colin grinned. “This is one of the larger villages I'll grant you, but nowhere near the scale of Philadelphia. Just imagine how impressed you'd both be with London.” He reached his arms up to help them down. “Come on, ladies."

Emma clung to Mary Elizabeth with one hand and the big gelding with her other. “Wait. I feel safer up here."

"On Stuart?"

If she'd asserted her love of horses above all creatures, Colin couldn't have looked more surprised.

"He's become a faithful friend. I'd rather view the villagers from—” she shrank against Charity as a crowd in colorful blankets surged toward them. “Lord preserve us."

Wicomechee studied them in bemusement. “Do you also wish to remain on the horse, Red Bird?"

Charity was weary beyond words, but fear jarred her to wakefulness as she stared at the throng. “For a little."

"This is foolish."

Colin shrugged. “I see no need to pull them off yet."

"As any warrior could do if he intended them harm,” Wicomechee pointed out.

Any remaining argument went unspoken as the noisy tide of men, women, and children engulfed them. The two men were caught up in the welcoming swell and swept away.

"Colin! Wicomechee!” Emma called, apparently having reconsidered her impulsive request, but the preoccupied men were hailing friends and didn't seem to notice her.

"We'll be all right.” Charity felt anything other than the assurance she'd offered as warriors already returned from raids, and men too old for war, converged on the new arrivals. Sharp eyes swept the women on Stuart with an appreciative glint or with no apparent interest at all, but without malice. “I think none wish to harm us."

"Colin and Wicomechee are paying little mind if they did,” Emma said.

Despite her uneasiness, Charity was intrigued. “Look at the women."

Their shining eyes and expressive faces made a lively contrast to the more restrained warriors she'd journeyed with. The feminine welcome elicited smiles from the home comers. Long black hair flew as strong arms swung laughing women up into their embrace. Lustrous braids and cascading torrents adorned with ribbons and silver brooches made Charity feel plain by comparison, as did the clothing she glimpsed beneath their blankets. Colorful beads embellished solid-colored shirts or those made from bold checks and prints and a rainbow of ribbons decorated swirling skirts.

Children ran through the crowd, their excitement amicably born by the adults. Curious little boys inspected the women before resuming their high-spirited flight. “They remind me of James.” He bounded into view with Weshe, not the least bit intimidated. “How unafraid he seems, so unlike poor Lily."

"James knows he's to remain with us. I hate having to surrender Lily, and Colin feels wretched about it,” Emma said.

Charity had last seen Lily clinging to Muga who'd been given the sad task of transferring her to Wacuchathi. “What can we do? As captor, Wacuchathi has the right to adopt her."

"At least if his wife is eager for a girl to replace their lost daughter, they will treat her kindly,” Emma said.

"Look. Those must be Posetha's parents."

A pleasant-faced woman with Posetha's smile rushed up and wrapped her arms around him. Behind her, an older warrior approached with more dignity, his finely chiseled features reminiscent of Posetha's. He laid a hand on his shoulder.

Emma pointed through the crowd. “Look at your husband."

Charity's attention flashed to the cluster of females gathering around Wicomechee and Colin. One young beauty lifted her arms around Wicomechee's neck, her lips at his ear. He shook his head at her apparent invitation, gesturing toward Charity. Still, she held to him, her black eyes appraising Charity with resentment, a sentiment she heartily returned. “That's Nialinwe, I'll wager. Her boldness is beyond belief."

"Mama would have plenty to say about such unladylike behavior."

Centuries of Scottish temper melded with English determination fired Charity's blood. “I could say a great deal myself. If Mechee doesn't pry her off, I will."

"For pity's sake, you can't just jerk her away."

"She's not much bigger than I am."

"Calm yourself,” Emma attempted.

Calm was the last thing Charity felt. “Now she's weeping against him. I'm getting down."

"Don't dismount unaided. You could be injured. Think of the baby, dearest."

Charity had forgotten everything but wrenching Nialinwe from her husband. She hesitated and glanced around. A familiar figure caught her eye. “Chaka!” He turned, his dark brows arching inquisitively. “Will you help us down?"

Emma tensed. “Have you lost all reason?"

"He won't harm us."

Chaka left a young woman and two small children. He walked to them, limping slightly from the injury to his leg. A teasing smile hovered at his lips. “Where is your husband?"

"In the arms of another."

"Ah. What do you think to do?"

"Tear Nialinwe from him."

His smile broadened. “Nialinwe has the temper of—” he paused as though searching for the right word. “She-bear."

"There. You see. Have a bit of sense,” Emma pleaded.

Lips pressed together, Charity scrutinized the young woman shaking against Wicomechee and his effort to console her. “That girl can do her weeping elsewhere."

Chaka shrugged broad shoulders and lifted Charity from the horse, holding her an instant longer than necessary before setting her down. “Have care, pretty one."

Emma hugged Mary Elizabeth as Chaka lifted her to the ground. “Waupee is fortunate in such a wife,” he said.

Emma looked at him dazedly. “You wished my death."

"No more.” Leaving them, he rejoined the waiting woman. A shy smile lit her eyes as he closed his arms around her and slipped his fingers through long hair spilling to her knees.

"That must be his wife,” Charity said. Chaka perched a giggling girl of about three on his shoulder, caught up a chubby toddler, and disappeared into the throng. “I never imagined he could be like this. Thank heavens he didn't bring me home as a second wife. She seems very fond of him."

"And he of her, though I doubt he'll ever be faithful."

"No. But Mechee promised to be.” Charity glared at the spot where he'd been standing. “Emma, he's gone."

She swiveled her head. “Colin and James are missing as well. Likely Wicomechee's with them. I see Muga. Take hold of Stuart and let's go to him."

Charity grasped the bridle. “Come on, boy. Looks like we'll have to fend for ourselves."

"I'm certain our men have a good reason for leaving us to be escorted by a horse,” Emma muttered.

"Mechee's reason had better not be Nialinwe."

A thinning crowd parted to let them pass, though Charity sensed the villagers tracking their every move. “Why does Muga still have Lily? He should have made the exchange by now.” The frightened child clung to him; not only that, but Muga spoke in earnest tones with Wacuchathi while a distraught woman, whom Charity assumed must be that brave's wife, wept.

"Muga!” Charity called uncertainly. The men turned angry faces toward her, an expression she'd never seen in Muga.

He waved them over. Wacuchathi gestured at Lily. “Take girl."

"
Nilaweh
?” Charity asked in confusion, using the Shawnee she'd learned for ‘us.'

He nodded, and his wife cried even harder. He spoke in her ear, eliciting a watery smile, and they walked away.

Relieved at this turn of events, Lily stopped crying and nestled against Muga. He took Stuart's reins and motioned for the women to follow. “
Wetemeloh
,” he said shortly.

"What's happening?” Emma asked as they fell in behind.

"For some reason they no longer want Lily. I've no idea why. Muga says to go with him,” Charity explained.

"I'm glad you understand their strange tongue."

"Only in part and not when they speak rapidly."

"'Tis far more than I know."

"Mechee's a good teacher.” In many ways. Charity badly wanted him with her. Mauve and gray blended with rose across the western sky as the saffron ball dipped below the tree line. “It'll be dark soon. Where can they be?"

"I can't imagine, but I'm certain neither abandoned us."

It seemed dishearteningly as if they had, and so strange to be wandering among bark-covered lodges rather than gathered by a campfire. Charity even felt wistful for the trail. This village overwhelmed her weary senses. Dizziness washed over her and the rows of
wickon
s lost their distinction.

"I don't feel well."

Emma circled a free arm around her. “Quick, lean on me."

Colin called from behind them as Charity slumped against her cousin and closed her eyes. His voice was muffled at first, then clearer. “Emma! I've been searching for you."

"And we've been looking for you. Help me with Charity."

He caught her up in his arms. “Poor girl. I'm terribly sorry to be so long. Wicomechee and I were greeting friends."

"We saw one
friend
weeping against him,” Emma said.

Colin whistled under his breath. “Nialinwe was fit to be tied when she heard about Charity. Your coming wasn't greeted with much enthusiasm by several of the young women either."

"I doubted they were there solely to welcome Wicomechee,” Emma said sagely. “Where is he?"

"With his grandfather. After a brief hello, I came back for you both, but you'd gone on."

Their conversation grew faint. Charity was only vaguely aware of Colin stooping to enter a dwelling. He laid her down before a fire. The warmth enveloped her as she drifted away.

Like a melody growing nearer and more distinct, the sounds and voices around Charity gradually penetrated her awareness. Opening her eyes, she stared at the interior of a snug lodge. Elk and deer skins covered the walls.

She turned her head and counted four platform beds covered with skins, and blankets. She didn't lie on one of these. Rather, she found herself on a thick bearskin in the center of the room near a cozy fire, startled to find the heavily lined face of an elderly woman peering down at her.

The woman bent to smooth her hair with aged fingers. “
Pocoon sisqui
."

She'd compared her hair to blood-red leaves. “
Megwich
,” Charity said, assuming she intended it as a compliment.

The old woman smiled, showing two black spaces where her front teeth were missing. Turning her attention to the fire, she stirred the stew in an iron kettle with a wooden ladle.

The meaty fragrance would have been welcome had Charity's stomach not felt distinctly unsettled. Wishing for lighter fare, she surveyed the iron and copper pots, woven baskets and cutlery stored in the cupboard. Knives, spoons, cups and bowls lined one shelf, most carved from wood, though some pewter pieces shone in the firelight. These supplies were every bit as adequate as Aunt Mary's had been.

Apparently satisfied with her dinner preparations, the woman dipped a cupful of steaming liquid from the clay pot resting by the fire. Then she slid a sturdy arm beneath Charity's shoulders and raised her head. A pungent herbal fragrance assailed her.

"
Olame ne tagh queloge,"
she protested, declaring she was too sick.

"
Shiskewapo ouisah chobeka
,” the elderly woman countered, insisting the tea was good medicine.

"
Naga. Puckechey
,” Charity argued, telling her to go.

Wicomechee stepped beside the determined woman. “
Megwich
, Apekonit.” He knelt and took the cup.

With a good-natured shrug, Apekonit left him to it. A smile hovered at his lips as he set the brew aside. “You defend yourself well in Shawnee, Red Bird."

Though vastly relieved to see him, Charity reproached him. “Most fortunate, as you left me to fend for myself."

"You told me you wished to remain on the horse."

"Not that long. Not while you consorted with Nialinwe."

"I was not. She consorted with me."

"I didn't see you trying very hard to escape."

"I tried."