To Capture Her Heart (2 page)

She let her head rock backward until she rested in the hollow of his shoulder. This man she owed her life to. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth—the first smile since she'd smiled at her new husband—as Dirk tried to speak her language with his Dutch accent. It was very different than the English, but she liked the cadence.

They rode long days, with few stops. With the summer solstice only a day behind them, the evening light gave them a long day of travel, and when it faded they bedded down where they could, always with men guarding the night. On the fourth day of travel, Fort Amsterdam was a welcome sight. Heather Flower was given her own quarters that night. The Englishmen slept in their bedrolls by the fire.

At dawn Heather Flower awoke before anyone, as she had each morning. She warmed herself by the fire until the search party joined her. They broke their fast with little cakes the Dutchmen called
poffertjes
, which she found to her liking. She watched Dirk while he ate with gusto. Her brother, Wyancombone, could wolf his food in that way. It would be good to see him again. Soon she would be home.

Dirk tied his knapsack and musket to the back of his saddle. Moving to the front of Miss Button, he untied her feedbag and talked low as he patted her neck. The last leg of the journey would be a long one. They could make Wading River in two days, but tonight they would need to find shelter somewhere in Samuel Ketcham's valley. Montauk would be another day's ride.

Button's ears flicked toward excited shouts at the front gate. Dirk turned as Joseph and Benjamin Horton rode through to the livery. He strode toward the brothers. “Hallo there!”

“Good morrow to you, Lieutenant.” Joseph swung down from his Great Black and stuck out a hand, his gloves tucked under his arm.

“What brings you to New Amsterdam?” Dirk's brow creased as he gripped the Englishman's hand.

“We've been sent to escort Wyandanch's daughter.”

Something of a rock formed in his throat and he swallowed hard before answering. “I am her escort. You may accompany your men home with us. We will make Samuel Ketcham's by dark.” Dirk looked from the Horton brothers to Biggs.

Benjamin stepped forward and offered to shake. “Captain Gardiner and my father, Barnabas, send their regard and a hearty thank-you, but we are instructed to bring Heather Flower from here. There will be no need for you to travel with us.”

A flock of noisy red hens pecked at the dirt in hopes of a seed or kernel of corn. Dirk watched as they bobbed and then scurried in every direction as Heather Flower approached. How would she feel? She trusted him. He wanted to scoop her up onto his horse and ride fast.

Instead, he waited for her to join them. “These men are here to take you home. They tell me I am to stay here at the fort, and you will be under their jurisdiction. Is that what you would want?”

She nodded to Joseph and Benjamin. “
Aquai
, friends. Dirk, they are like brothers to me. They are the sons of Mary, friend of my aunt Winnie of Southold, Old Yennicott. It would be unkind of me to say no. But I thank you from the heart for what you have done for me. I will never forget you.”

Joseph untethered the horse they brought had for her and Dirk stepped forward to brace Heather Flower's foot as she swung to the saddle. He caught her hand as she picked up the reins and gently squeezed. She graced him with her small smile that barely turned the corners of her mouth. Her dark eyes shimmered with dew as she turned away and followed the Horton brothers eastward, away from the fort.

He shielded his eyes against the bright morning sun, watching as the small rescue party rode into the distance. He rubbed his hand across his mouth. He was always so sure of himself. So in control. But in the matter of a moment, from the first they had met, he'd fallen.
Ja.
He'd fallen all right. He'd never loved before, but there could be no mistaking the jagged pain that started in his throat and burned down to his very heart. He wanted her to come back. No, he wanted to get on Miss Button and chase her.

June 26, 1653

As the rescuers neared the East River, Heather Flower turned to Benjamin as he pulled up close on Star, his Great Black gelding. Except for her fear of Ninigret and his men returning, this was the most dangerous part of the journey home. She listened intently.

“We'll be crossing the river where the Dutch run a ferry,” Benjamin said, “and then we'll be on Long Island.” He pointed to the edge of the river. “There are the rowboats, and I want you to ride in one. I'll go with you, and the horses will swim. Joseph will ride across with our mounts on leads behind him. The current is tricky. It changes often, but this is the best time of day to cross and the weather is decent.”

They rode up to the river's edge and he helped her into the wooden boat, holding it fast to the shore until his brother and the rest of the party had guided their horses into the river. As their mounts found the current and swam with it to the opposite shore, Benjamin pushed off the bank and the two muscled
Dutchmen who operated the ferry began to row. The air was still, the surface water but a ripple, and the little boat scuttled across. Joseph and the men arrived first, wet but safe.

Benjamin climbed out, then held her hands as he helped her out. The earth felt good beneath her feet and comfort settled over her like a soft rabbit fur.
Paumonak
. Long Island. She was home. She gazed at the forest they would ride through. The thick hickory and white oak concealed deer paths known only to her people. They would be watched as they rode toward home, but from a distance by friendly eyes.

Joseph dug two stuyvers from the leather bag he kept on his belt and paid the ferrymen for their service. Their horses' strides hit a rhythm as she rode between the Horton men. How could two blood brothers be so different? Joseph was tall with broad shoulders and the high Horton forehead. He had his father's good looks with a mass of mahogany brown hair worn a bit longer than Barnabas's, and the same mossy green eyes. Mary said Benjamin looked just like his mother, Ann—blond curls and clear blue eyes and the smile of an angel. And the differences between the brothers didn't stop there.

But they both were charmers, and the blond one was in love with her. She'd known that since she was ten. But her heart had belonged to her warrior for as long as she could remember. Sadness filled her. Grateful for the silence, she allowed her thoughts to linger on the last time she had seen him. She needed this quiet interlude.

Keme was the boy who always laughed when they were growing up. Not at her, but with her. Even when ceremonies called for silence she could see laughter in his eyes and she knew where his thoughts lay: tranquil moments chasing butterflies with her—azure beauties flitting through the forest and orange
Monarchs, their wings dry, taking flight for the first time from their milkweed home in the meadow. Or running through the birch woods, fascinated as they paused to watch an English bee swallowed within the pink folds of the moccasin flower. They wanted to stop it, but feared its sting. Keme's mother smiled when they'd told her about the poor bee eaten by the flower and assured them it didn't die, but left pollen for the flower and took some more away with it.

As they grew older, the laughter in his eyes was imbued with admiration, and he would pick the pink flowers for her and play his flute by her door. She knew he loved her, and in truth, she could not remember a day when she did not love him. For her she could not imagine a day without Keme, and there had never been a question if she would be his wife.

Her throat closed tight until it ached and her eyes stung as she stared at the ground she traveled with Joseph and Benjamin. Her own people had worn this path many years before, now widened by the white men's horses and frequent travel. They rode for hours as they followed the eastward-flowing Peconic River where they could, with a few wordless stops to water their horses and fill their water pouches.

Joseph pushed up in his saddle, stretching his legs. “We should reach the lake tonight, and tomorrow we will make Montauk before nightfall.”

Heather Flower listened, but remained silent. The company of men rode before the trio and behind, and as the trail narrowed, the riding party formed a single line. Joseph moved his mount ahead of her, while Benjamin fell behind. No one would harm her on this journey home. But it would be a bittersweet homecoming. She wiped at the moisture on her lashes, glad the white brothers could not see her tears.

They spread out once again as they rode through bogs and marshes and eventually approached a clearing near the river. Joseph urged his horse to a canter and rode to the front of the group. He pulled up. “We'll camp here tonight. Lieutenant Biggs, give me some of your men to go on a hunt, and send the rest to gather wood for a fire.” He watched as a young bald eagle, still a solid dark gray, swooped and nailed its prey with deadly accuracy.

Heather Flower followed his gaze to the sacred bird.

Benjamin swung off of his horse and tethered him to a log. He held the bridle of Heather Flower's mount and offered a hand while she climbed down.

“Thank you,” she said. “Would you walk with me down to the river? I must talk with you.”

“Of course. Are you all right?”

They walked toward the water in silence. He would wait for her to answer and she appreciated his willingness to let her take the lead. She listened for a moment to the breeze whistling through the tree limbs, the water flowing nearby, and wished they could sit together without words and be still. But as they neared the water's edge he stopped.

“Heather Flower, are you all right?”

“I am not. I will not be if I go home. My husband's blood soaks the ground.”

Benjamin's baby blue eyes searched hers.

“Take me to my aunt's home. Let me stay with Winnie.”

He lowered himself to a fallen tree and motioned for her to sit next to him. “Your father would be grieved to not have you in Montauk. He may be angry if we do not bring you back as he directed.”

“It is my decision to make. He will respect it, Benjamin. We must take the north fork in the morning. We must go to Southold.”

“All right then. Let me talk to Joseph. I'm sure he will have the same concerns as I, but I think we need to honor what you wish.”

She felt the nearness of him. He would want to hold her hand, to put his arm around her for comfort. But he would keep the space between them out of respect for her dead husband, out of respect for her feelings. He was a good man with a strong belief in the white man's God, the same God her aunt prayed to. Winnie's mother had learned of this God when she lived with the palefaces of Massachusetts.

Heather Flower stood. “You are kind, my brother.” She shivered in the coolness of the summer evening and looked up. The sky was a dusky blue above with clouds to the west, now swathed in orange and pink as the sun sank behind them. A purple hue ran the length of the horizon below the sherbet-colored clouds. A few faint stars began to shimmer overhead as she moved up the path toward the crackle of fire.

Benjamin thought he was the first to wake the next morning, but Heather Flower's form near the low embers told him he was not. He sat up and took stock of the other sleeping men, his gaze falling on Joseph who slept with one hand on his musket, the other clenched on top of his chest. No doubt he fought some kind of battle in his sleep.

Heather Flower hummed and he turned his attention back to her. It was not a happy song, but a dirge of sorts. A sorrowful, soft wail. Joseph had said at first they must return her to Chief Wyandanch. They had no choice. But Benjamin stood his ground, and his brother gave in. Taking care of her was a priority now, if she'd let him.

He pulled on his boots. She turned toward the noise. He
smiled as he stood and stretched his stiff limbs, then joined her at the fire. A nudge to the blackened logs woke the embers beneath and sparked a flame. “Did you sleep?”

Her face was solemn, her black opal eyes never leaving him. “I do not sleep, I mourn.”

“I understand.” He studied her a moment, then looked at the gray, humid sky. “Please take care of yourself. We can make it to Southold by noon if we can get packed up and leave soon. But it's a hard ride. You must eat something. Tonight, at your aunt's, you must sleep.” The urge to take her in his arms and rock her to and fro drove him to turn away. He bit back all of the words he wanted to say but knew he could not. She was fragile.

Joseph roused Biggs. He was anxious to be on their way now that they were going straight to Southold. He never liked leaving his sweet wife, Jane.

Benjamin stood and left Heather Flower by the fire to help his brother pack up the camp.

Within half an hour they mounted and crossed the Peconic to head north, into Southold territory. The town green was a good four-hour ride. Benjamin rode in silence and mulled over Heather Flower's wishes. It could be good for her to stay in Southold with Winnie, though it had been a long time since she last visited. She'd been a young girl, a lot had changed.

The royal family had come across the bay from Montauk in canoes when Winnie's eldest daughter, Abigail, had married. Abigail had come to live with the Hortons many years ago, when Benjamin's half brother Caleb was born. She was only fifteen, but she'd helped birth him. His mother, Mary, loved her like a daughter and called her Abbey.

Ten-year-old Heather Flower had looked regal in her beaded and be-feathered robe and matched the beauty of the bride even
at her young age. When Benjamin grew up, he fell in love with Anna Budd, but he'd not forgotten the Indian princess who came to Abbey's wedding.

“My brother, the wind has shifted and a storm comes.”

Her words brought him to the present and he straightened in the saddle. He sniffed the air. “You smell the rain?”

“
Nuk
, yes. I feel it too. A big storm comes in from the west.”

The cloud cover had hung low all morning. He couldn't see anything that looked threatening like thunderclouds. But she knew things in nature the white man could only pretend to know.

“Joseph, a storm's coming in. We'd best move with haste if we are to get home before it hits.”

His brother spurred his horse toward the front of the company, and he and Heather Flower pressed their mounts to a canter. The easy gait of the Great Blacks made it comfortable to sustain until the outlying wigwams and longhouse of the Corchaug people came into view.

They crossed Downs Creek as heavy drops of rain began to fall and the wind picked up. They split as Biggs's men rode toward Ester Bayley's boardinghouse in Southold. She would provide a hot meal for the horse troop before they returned to their homes as she did every Saturday after the troop's militia training.

Benjamin and Heather Flower rode ahead of Joseph as they approached the Corchaug village. Wigwams stood outside the fort's palisade and a few women sat outside scraping hides with sharp shells. They watched as the trio rode through the palisade, into the fort.

Heather Flower looked back to Joseph, then turned to him. “I don't remember my aunt's wigwam.”

He nodded toward a large, round hut covered with grass.
Smoke poured from a clay-covered opening at the top. Winnie would be inside, perhaps tending to Winheytem. He'd fallen ill before the Horton boys had left on their mission to bring back Heather Flower. “Your aunt won't be expecting us. No doubt she will be overcome to see you. Your uncle wasn't well when we left to get you.”

Joseph jumped to the ground and wrapped the reins around a hickory pole. “Mayhap I should go in first?” He looked to her, an eyebrow raised.

He raised both brows when Benjamin answered instead. “You go, we'll wait. Tell Winnie if Winheytem is too sick, we can take her to Father's. Is that all right with you, Heather Flower?”

“Abigail would have me, if my aunt cannot, Benjamin.”

Benjamin climbed down from his horse and helped Heather Flower down. “Of course.” He tipped his hat to Joseph, who walked up to the wigwam, the doorway covered by a heavy bearskin.