Chapter 17

The world was dark and wet when Kate opened her eyes. At first, she struck out wildly at the branches around her, not remembering where she was. Then it all came pouring back over her. She was in a logjam. She had swum in through a hole; she would have to swim out. Her heart was pounding. Why was it so dark? She listened. There were night sounds on the river; an owl hooted in the forest. It had been dusk when the shooting started. Now, it was night.

Taking a deep breath, she wriggled down, feeling her way with her bare feet. She forced herself down, holding back the terror with all her might, inching out of the logjam. Then, she was in the river proper. She felt the swift current; she swam away from the logs and surfaced.

The full moon made the night like day. The water was suddenly cold. She shivered, her teeth chattering. A few sure strokes and her feet touched the sandy bottom. Staggering up into the shallows, she pulled herself up the bank. She wanted to lie there, but instinct forced her into the woods away from the river. If anyone was searching for her, they would look near the river.

The branches were sharp under her feet; she bruised her arch on a pointed rock. The underbrush tangled in her hair and scratched her face and arms. Kate kept walking.

Something crashed through the brush; Kate thought of bears. Then there was the sound of an animal running. Only a deer. It must be a deer. The owl hooted again, directly overhead. The forest had never seemed frightening when Pride was with her. Alone, she was terrified. She kept putting one foot in front of another. She must get farther from the river. She had come ashore on the right side; the right side was south, at least she thought so. Maryland was south. She'd just keep putting one foot in front of the other until she reached home.

After what seemed hours, her body would no longer obey. She sank down, too tired to care if they caught her, too tired to do anything but sleep. She wrapped her arms around her knees to try and keep warm. When she opened her eyes again, it was full light.

She was ravenous. Images of the juicy turkey wing teased her brain. If there was anything to eat in the woods, she didn't see it. She was thirsty, too. How could she possibly be thirsty after the river? She'd swallowed half of it. She began to walk again, in what she hoped was a straight line.

She pushed through a thick clump of bushes and nearly toppled into the river a dozen feet below. The river! Was it the same one, or another? Had she been walking in circles all this time?

Carefully, she made her way down the bank and drank. She put her sore feet into the running water and let it wash away the dirt and blood. Face it, Kate, you 're lost! Some Indian she was! She lowered her body into the clean water and swam a few strokes. Maybe she could catch a fish or something. Although what she'd do with a raw fish, she couldn't imagine.

A canoe bobbed across the surface of the water. Kate panicked and splashed toward the shore.

"Hey!" a voice called. "Bon jour, demoiselle!"

She scrambled up the bank and ran into the woods. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the canoe moving swiftly toward shore with two paddlers.

Kate dashed through the trees, dove under a lightning-felled pine, and hid beneath the dry boughs. Her heart was pounding, and her breath came in gasps. She tried to slow her breathing, certain her pursuers would find her by the sound. She clenched her eyes shut and waited, trying not to move a muscle as twigs snapped and leaves rustled.

The leaves parted over her head. "What have we here? Come out, little chicken. Etienne will not harm a hair of your head."

Kate looked up into the grinning face of a bearded woodsman. His voice was heavily accented. He was French. She forced back bitter tears. "I'm not afraid of you," she bluffed.

He took her hand and lifted her up. "Then why do you hide under zee tree like frightened quail?" He looked her up and down with amused brown eyes. He stood not much taller than she, but the long rifle cradled easily in his muscular arm lent authority to his stance.

"I'm unarmed, that's why I ran," she said, brushing the pine needles off the ragged remains of her dress. "Why did you chase me?"

"Ah, you are Englesh. I thought so. I say to Marie, that is my little woman, the startled doe is Englesh. This is no place for you, petite. Only yesterday a Seneca war party ambush a French officer and his Huron allies on thees very river. Many men killed. You would not be the Englesh prisoner, would you?"

Kate nodded. Her lower lip quivered. "Do you have anything to eat? Even the condemned get a last meal."

"Bel esprit!" He laughed, showing even, white teeth. "You must not be afraid of me. I am no enemy of yours, petite. I am only a poor voyager going downriver for winter supplies. My woman is with me. Come, you will see. We cannot remain here. There may be Seneca scouts in the woods." He motioned toward the river. "Back to the canoe. Quickly, petite." Kate did as she was told.

"How did you find out about the attack?"

"On the river, nothing be secret long. Seneca big news. When Iroquois fight Iroquois, smart man keep head low." He waved to the Indian woman as she paddled the canoe close to shore. "I was right, Marie," he called. "This is lost quail from yesterday. He helped Kate into the canoe."

The woman stared at her. She was young and plump, and carried a baby on her back. "Hello," Kate ventured.

"This is my woman, Marie."

"Wife," the girl corrected.

"Ah, yes. Marie is good Christian Menominee girl. We are legal by priest. What is your name, petite?"

"Kate Storm. Kate Storm Ashton," she amended.

"Little one is my son, Louis." Etienne positioned his rifle carefully and took up the paddle. "Safer in center of river." Together, he and Marie guided the canoe into the current.

"Please," Kate urged. "Don't turn me back over to Captain DeSalle. Let me go. All I want to do is to get home. I'm no enemy of yours, either. DeSalle captured my husband and me. I want to go back to our farm in Maryland. I could pay you."

"You do not look as though you could pay for a tankard of beer, madame." Etienne said lightly. "As I say, I am voyager, not soldier." He spat into the water. "I would not turn goat over to that pig DeSalle. He is one bad man, I think." He turned and grinned at her. "I must take you to authorities. But I do not give you to DeSalle." He shrugged. "No one knows where DeSalle may be. Maybe he dances at Seneca stake. Maybe river take him. We can always hope."

"But if you just let me go..."

"You starve to death in woods or zee bear eat you. Woods no place for petite. You will be traded soon for French prisoners. You have word of Etienne."

Etienne's word was as good as his rifle. At the settlement, Kate received clean clothing and food; she was treated kindly and sent on with another woman prisoner to Quebec City.

* * *

Within a month, she found herself in a boat, in the middle of a large river, with a half-dozen sniveling women and children and one gray-haired grandfather. The French soldiers were gentle and efficient as they conducted the prisoner exchange. Kate climbed the ladder to an English boat and was herded below as the boat headed for the south shore.

The rescued captives were transported to Albany and turned over to civilian authorities. The weather had turned bitter, and they arrived in the midst of a snowstorm. Kate was furious at the lack of sympathy the captives received from their own people.

"We'll do the best we can by you," a harried magistrate promised. "But we've exhausted all the funds provided for your care. You must contact relatives to pay for your transportation. We've indigents enough in Albany without you squatters to worry about."

"I'm no squatter!" Kate snapped. "I'm Lady Ashton of Ashton Hall in Maryland colony."

"Sure ya are, sweets. And I'm the Prince o' Wales. I've no time fer yer lies. Ya claim to lie a married woman, an' I see no ring on yer finger, nor no mark o' one. Ya look like a common slut to me."

Kate answered him with a sound cursing. Here, with her own kind, she was as much a prisoner as with the French. They were even being held in the local almshouse.

"Shut yer foul mouth, woman, or I'll shut it fer ya. Ya may be a runaway bond servant fer all I know. Fer certain yer no lady! "

After two days of poor food, thin blankets, and biting fleas, Kate was given over to a fanner and his wife. "This is Amos Tinley. Yer to go with him."

"I'd not be having trash at my house, but I'm ailin'," the woman whined. She stood just under six feet, with shoulders like a dockhand. "We'll keep her jest till spring. I'll not have her laying round when she drops her bastard, eatin' an' not doin' a lick. Our hired girl jest ran off to get married an' I've got sixteen young'ns to fend fer."

Tinley was a red-faced, dull-eyed farmer. "You'll work fer yer keep at our place," he stammered. "No slackers under my roof."

"Go along, woman! What are you staring at?" the attendant snapped. "Go with the Tinleys."

"In a pig's eye! I'm no servant!"

"You said she'd be biddable," the wife protested. "My back's got the misery. I can't be puttin' up with lip from a uppity wench."

The attendant gave Kate a shove. "No nonsense from you, girl. You'll get plenty to eat, and anyplace'd be warmer than here. Yer in the family way. You don't want to stay round the almshouse in winter. Too many dyin' of the consumption! Use yer head. You'll end up in a pine box here, if they spare one to put you under in."

Knowing common sense when she heard it, Kate reluctantly got into the open wagon behind the farmer and his wife. It was still snowing, and the wind was sharp. She wrapped a dirty blanket around herself and rolled herself into a ball. She'd have to make the best of the situation until she figured out what to do. It was plain she could go nowhere in this weather.

The Tinley farmhouse was a two-story rambling dwelling of stone and wood. The children ranged from four months to sixteen years. Mistress Tinley was given to producing twins; she was also given to producing the ugliest children Kate had ever laid eyes on.

From before daylight until long after dark, Kate labored to satisfy Mistress Tinley. There were cows to be milked, butter to be churned, chickens to be fed, eggs to be gathered, floors to be scrubbed, and endless piles of dishes to be washed. The woman was too lazy to be cruel. As long as Kate kept busy, she could eat as much as she liked. There were threats, but no physical abuse.

And outside, the snow fell; snowdrift piled upon snowdrift. The wind howled and tore at the windows. Kate's hands turned red and cracked; her nose dripped. Water froze on the kitchen table at night. The dogs had to be driven outside. Winter wrapped the Albany farmhouse in a grip so tight, Kate feared spring would never come again.

By her counting, the baby would be born some time in late May. As March passed without a letup in the cruel weather, she began to worry that she would ever get back to Ashton Hall in time. Leaving now would be suicide; she could never get ten miles in this snow. Each passing week made her less able to travel the distance between upper New York and the Maryland colony.

In early April, the snow turned to rain. As soon as the roads were passable, Kate crept from her room after everyone was asleep. She took food from the kitchen, stole Amos's best riding horse, and headed south.

Hampered by her bulky figure, Kate was only able to make twenty miles by first light. The horse was up to his knees in mud; a light rain was falling. Kate was cold and damp, but her spirits were high. Ashton Hall lay south, and Ashton's heir was safe under her heart. Nothing and no one would stop her now.

She ate on horseback, pausing only when absolutely necessary. Her body ached, and she felt as if she was coming down with a cold. Kate knew that Tinley would mount a search party for his horse, if not his servant. She must put miles between her and the farm. She drove the weary animal into a teeth-jarring trot.

By dark, the bay was missing a step now and then, his head sagging. She traded him for a roan workhorse grazing in a pasture, and galloped on. She'd have to leave the roads soon enough. Now she could not worry about being seen. She must cover territory. The roan's owner would be surprised, but he had the best of the bargain. Tinley would have to take the loss! She'd worked enough that winter to pay for two horses.

At daylight, she found an abandoned cabin, led the horse inside, and slept the day away. She finished the last of the food and drank from a spring near the cabin. Only a few miles away, she saw the lights of a town. She turned away, across a wooded field, and rode into the forest. An obviously pregnant woman, alone on a workhorse, would be too easy to remember.

She dared not ride at night in the thick trees; she slept rolled in a blanket on the damp ground. At dawn she mounted and rode on, grateful for the saddle. She followed the road until it seemed safe to go back to it. At noon, she met a family traveling to a wedding. She traded Mistress Tinley's split-oak basket for a meal and two loaves of sweet bread.

"How come you be riding by yerself?" the husband asked.

Kate sighed. "My man run off, his sister said she seen him down in Penn's colony, working fera baker. I couldn't run the farm by m'self, so I'm goin' to look fer 'im. He ain't much, my Harry ain't, but he's the father o' this young'n."

"You ought'n be riding so far along," the wife cautioned. "You might slip it. I slipped one afore Thomas there." She pointed to a large-eared urchin.

Kate nodded. "Yer right, I know. But what's a body t' do? Only right his lawful father do fer a babe."

"What's yer man's name, and where do he hail from?"

"Harry Wiggins," she lied smoothly. "Our farm was in Turpin's Road. Course, Master Elwood took it back now. We was tenant farmers. Good farm, too."

The man nodded sympathetically. "Hope ya find yer man."

"This yer first?" the woman asked. She was stout and puffed when she walked. Her hair was as black as an Indian's and rolled into a knot on top of her head. "What's yer Christian name, Miz Wiggins?"

"Molly. It use t' be Potts. Maybe ye know some of my kin. There's lots o' Potts over t' the coast. I got fourteen brothers an' sisters, most older 'n me."

"Don't say as I do. Listen though, Molly. We're goin' the same way. Why don't you come down off that horse and ride a spell in the wagon? We're goin' to spend the night with his"—she pointed to her husband—"cousin. They'll not notice another. It ain't safe fer a woman alone. We're goin' far as Kane's Crossing. You might come t' Jeannie's wedding with us, if you're a mind. Like to hear the news of your valley. It's been a lonesome winter."

Kate agreed, sliding down from the horse. Search parties would be looking for a woman alone. She'd stay with these people a while, as long as they were traveling south. "I'm no beggar," Kate said. "I got hard coin t' pay m' way." She'd taken a handful of coppers from Mistress Tinley's cream pitcher. Maybe she'd followed the wrong career. It seemed she had outlawing in her blood. It was a lot easier than being honest!

Two days later, she left the wedding party on a fresh horse. She'd traded the workhorse for a black mare, blind in one eye, but sound. The farmer had thrown in a few coins and a good knife. The mare was no more than five years old and had an even gait. She also left with clear directions to Philadelphia.

* * *

Philadelphia was the biggest town Kate had seen since she'd left London. She'd been afraid that people would stare at her, but no one seemed to notice. The streets were thick with farmers, vendors, and travelers. Women carried baskets of eggs and pitchers of milk door to door. A black woman passed with a basket full of gingerbread on her head. She called out as she walked, and children scrambled to trade their ha'pennies for the cookies. Kate's mouth watered for one. She hadn't eaten since early yesterday, but her coins were all gone.

A black-robed Quaker provided directions to the banking house. A few whispered names led Kate to an inner office and the kind embrace of her father's old friend David.

"Whatever I can do, I will," he promised. "We were saddened by word of his arrest and death."

"My brother, Geoffrey, too is dead," Kate told him. "I need enough money from you to hire a guide to take me down to the Maryland colony. My... my husband is there," she lied.

The gray eyes were shrewd. "You know you would be welcome in our home as long as you wish. We've had long practice in hiding friends from the authorities."

Kate grinned. "I know. But it's vital that my husband's heir be born at the plantation. I've come so far. Please help me to get to Ashton Hall. It's west of Annapolis, days... I'm not sure. But it should be easy enough to find out. It is a great estate."

"Of course we'll help. God go with you, Kate Storm."

The last days of her journey were without incident. The Quaker woodsman and Delaware guides were honest and dependable. If her body protested at the hours in the saddle, Kate kept it to herself. She would tolerate no delay, least of all from her own frailty. On the morning of May 8th, the riders crossed onto cultivated Ashton land.

Kate dismissed her party on the spot. She would brook no argument. They had fulfilled their obligation. She wanted no witnesses to her shame when she confronted Rebecca. Her son's secret must be between the two women if he were to be the legal heir. She rode the last few miles alone.

There were excited cries from the field laborers as they recognized Kate. Robin left his sheep to run after her horse. "Miss Kate! Miss Kate!" he shouted. "Howdy, Miss Kate!"

She waved to him and kicked her heels into the little mare. The house was in view now. She blinked back tears. She'd come so damn far. What if Rebecca turned her away? Would she be forced to deliver her child under a tree like a wild animal?

The horse trotted into the barnyard and whinnied. Another answered the call. Kate let the reins go slack; suddenly she was afraid.

"Kate?"

The hair rose on the back of her neck, and she whirled in the saddle. Pride Ashton stood in the shadows of the barn. "Pride? Pride?" She rubbed her eyes. It couldn't be. "Pride?" He came toward her. Her head began to spin, and she would have fallen if he hadn't caught her up in his strong arms.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered hoarsely, laying her head against his chest.

The dark eyes burned with a cold flame. "You had damn good reason to think so." He stood her on her feet. "Why are you here?"

Kate stared at him; her hand reached up to stroke his cheek. He jerked away, and she flinched. "I... I thought you were dead. All that blood... I thought DeSalle killed you. How...?"

"Why are you here? What do you want?" he demanded harshly. The scar on his face had faded to a thin white line against the bronzed, glowing skin.

"I came back to have our child... here at Ashton Hall," she answered softly. Tears formed in the comers of her blue eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead, all this time."

"You've come here to have some man's child, that's for sure." He eyed her large stomach.

"Damn you to hell, Pride Ashton! It's your child!" She backed away from him.

"Save your lies and your tears for someone else! You forget where I saw you last," he lashed. The hawk face was hard; his eyes showed no trace of tenderness... no love.

"It wasn't what you think."

"No? And it wasn't what I think with Simon? Or with my brother? Tschi told me about you, Kate. Don't waste your talent on me."

"Tschi? I never..." she protested. "Pride! You've got to believe me. It is your baby. No one else has ever touched me that way. No one." Her hands curled into tight fists. The child stirred within her and she protected it with her arms. "Deny him if you can, but he's an Ashton."

He laughed. "A great performance, Kate Storm. You really should have made your living on the stage. Actresses and whores are all sisters under the skin."

"You don't know what I've been through, what I've done to get here," she pleaded. She could not hold back the tears; she began to hiccup. "I'm telling the truth."

"Like you told the truth to Tschi? To DeSalle? What is the truth, Kate? Do you even know? Or have you told so many lies you begin to believe them yourself?"

"I'm your wife," she cried. "Your wife."

"No," he corrected cruelly. "You were my wife. I divorced you. A Shawnee does not tolerate an unfaithful woman."

A pain knifed through Kate, clearing her brain. It gave her something to ache for, and she took a deep breath. "What happened to all your great talk about the Shawnee way?" she demanded. "You said there were no bastard children among the Indians."

"I guess I've too much of my father's blood in me," he admitted. "I've gotten you out of my system, Kate, for good."

"Have you?" She caught his hand and held it, gripping it tightly as another pain surged through her. The joy of finding him alive had been overshadowed by his rejection. The double shock was almost too great to bear.

His hand should have meant nothing to her, a broad, callused hand, marred by scars and briar cuts. She brought it to her cheek, thrilling to the old familiar sweetness that sent chills through her body. "I love you," she whispered. "I think I've loved you from the first day I met you. Don't do this to us, Pride. Please."

"You still don't listen. There is no us." He stepped away from her; his eyes narrowed. "You're in labor?"

"I... I don't know."

He put an arm around her. "Come to the house. You should be in bed."

"Not until we settle this." The old stubbornness surfaced in Kate's voice. "You can't believe I came here to have another man's child. I wouldn't do that." His hair had grown out; she longed to run her fingers through it. "Why didn't you die? I thought..." She pounded her fist against his chest. "Pride, I saw your scalp. DeSalle threw it... threw it in my face."

"Not mine, obviously. A Huron tried to lift it, after they dragged me into the woods. Jonas saved me. He and some Shawnee tracked us."

"But you left me with him!"

"You seem to have survived well enough. I was more dead than alive when they carried me off. It was a week before I was conscious again." He slipped an arm under her legs and lifted her. "No matter whose it is, I won't let it be born in the barnyard." Pride walked with her toward the house.

"Where's Rebecca?"

"She's not here. She's seeing some of her Delaware kin settled on a piece of ground south of here. I sent men with her. We're at war, Kate. The Shawnee burned out a settlement to the east. Five men were killed, the women taken captive. I don't know how you rode through that country without trouble."

"I had an escort south from Philadelphia. I.... " She flinched. "I thought you were dead, but I wanted your son to be born here. I came alone from Canada."

"DeSalle paid your passage south, I suppose?"

The servants stared as Pride carried her through the front doors and down the hall to her old room. "You may as well stay here. No one's used it since you ran away." He kicked open the door. A maid ran ahead to strip back the bed and he laid Kate on the clean sheet. "I'll send for the midwife."

Kate recoiled from the frosty tones. He might have been ordering a fence repaired. "Get this through your thick head," she insisted. "This is your baby!"

The little maid flushed crimson and fled the room. Pride stared at her and shook his head. "I loved you once, Kate. I would have done anything for you, given you anything. But you betrayed me once too often. It's over. There's nothing left. Accept it. I got over you a long time ago."

"No! I won't accept it! You're angry, and you have a right to be." A pain caught her and she bit the inside of her lip. "We created this baby in love. If you don't care about me anymore, at least care about your child. Stay with me, please. I don't want to be alone."

"I said I'd send the midwife." Pride paused with his hand on the door. "When you're well enough to travel, I'll send you and the child back to England. I don't want you in the Colonies. I never want to see you again."