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SOMETHING COLD AND wet brushed Thomas’ chin. He swiped it aside. It came back. He opened his eyes.
Fingal.
Thomas reached his hand upward and stroked the dog’s face and neck. “Ye have been neglectful of your master as of late.”
The dog barked, then raced to the bedroom door. He sniffed. He sprinted to the cellar door, to the back door beside the wood bin, then across the room and halfway up and down the stairs. He scrambled to the front door and stopped.
“Ach! I should not have awakened.” Thomas peeled the blanket from his chilled body and lifted himself from the mattress. The fire had lowered to embers. Fingal barked again.
“I am coming.” Thomas stood, shuffled to the door, and opened it. The sun was well above the horizon. The dog sprinted outside, his paws tossing slushy snow in waves at his feet.
Thomas shut the door and went back to the fireplace. He stirred the coals and put another log on the fire. His stomach grumbled. He had not started any porridge last night, so it would have to be cold rabbit pie. He could set porridge on for this evening.
He turned to chairs arrayed to the right of the fireplace. He gripped Josué’s coat. ‘Twas damp still from last night’s washing which he had managed after the lass had taken to her room.
His cloak was slightly less damp. The deerskin leggings, which he had spot washed, beaten, and scraped with rocks, he would change into later. The rest would be dry enough to wear or take along on the morrow.
A knock sounded at the door. He reared to his feet. Who could it be?
And where was Fingal? Why was the dog not barking?
He hurried to the front window. He pulled back the curtain.
Running Feather?
Thomas lurched across the room and opened the door.
The Delaware brave’s black, straight hair hung to his waist. Turkey feathers dangled near his forehead from braids either side of his face. He wore a shirt the color of fresh mulberries, and deerskin leggings stretched over legs as lean as pine saplings.
“My old friend.” Thomas smiled. “I am glad to see ye.”
The brave unleashed a grin wider than Chesapeake Bay. “Thomas not be long glad.” He pulled a rope in his right hand.
Stumbling up the left steps of the porch, Fingal at her side, was Elizabeth.
Thomas’ gut shrank to his spine.
The lass’ cheeks shivered red from the cold. Her wrists were bound before her. Her eyes scrapped between terror one minute and fury the next.
And good heavens! Where had she found it? He had not seen it in years.
“You stole my father ’s plaid?”
“I did not. I left you a letter and some money. And I thought you could use Josué’s coat.”
Thomas was going to burn that coat first chance he got.
“Is Thomas going to invite us in?” Running Feather asked.
Thomas stepped aside. Running Feather pushed Elizabeth through the doorway and then came himself. He even closed the door, for Thomas could not seem to move.
Fingal’s antics last night and again this morning suddenly made sense. Thomas should have known something was up. The dog was too perceptive and this lass too tricky.
“I canna believe ye.” He ragged his hand through his hair. “Ye stayed in my cabin. Ye ate my food.” He stepped toward her. “Your brother is buried in my cemetery. Ye wear my father ’s plaid, and ye slept in my bed the past two nights.” With my favorite quilt. “My dog seems to have taken to ye.” He towered over her. “And ye are French.”
“I am Acadian.”
“And I hate the French.”
She tilted her head backward. “Ye hate the British, too.”
He reared back. She may as well have slapped him.
The plaid slipped from her right shoulder. “Ye are a Scotsman after all, and they hate everyone.”
Then, it hit him. Hard.
Her seemingly privileged background. Her big words. Her fluency in both French and English.
Was the Acadian story a ruse? Was that why she could nae go back to Baltimore Town?
“Are ye a spy?” He pressed the words through his teeth. “Were ye and your brother sent here by Iron Gun to find me?”
“Who is Iron Gun?”
“Or worse, to take my family?”
Running Feather grabbed for Thomas’ shoulder. “’Tis not likely the woman spies, for she goes south and not north.”
Thomas swerved his gaze back to her. She turned aside. The rest of the plaid slipped and puddled at her feet. She again wore a shirt and pants.
“And woman knows nothing of wood lore,” Running Feather continued. “‘Twas an easy hunt and a quick catch.”
Thomas bent down and picked up his father’s fearnought plaid. A single yellow stripe crisscrossed muted blue and green squares. He rolled the heavy wool. “So ye just ran away? Why?”
The fire poured from her eyes. “Have you not listened when I have told you how frightened I am of going back to the Fottrell House?”
“More afraid than of the savages?”
“Oui, for there is a sure future that awaits me in Baltimore Town, and Carlisle is only two and some odd days away. There was a great possibility that I would have made it.”
“Possible, but highly unlikely. Especially going the wrong direction.”
“I had a map. I would have figured it out soon enough.”
She may well have.
Or she may not. ‘Twas hard to know with this lass. He crushed the plaid to his waist. “And what would ye have done in Carlisle? Do ye know anything about hiring a guide? Or did it cross your mind ye might not be able to trust such a one with your person?”
“I have a pistol.”
“Aw, Lass.”
“Which I can shoot.” She bounced her chin. “Besides, ‘twas a safer bet than—”
“The Fottrell House.” He sighed. “Ye are lucky Running Feather found ye.”
She shot the brave a hateful look. “I do not consider myself lucky. He jumped me, tied me up with this rope, and insisted I come back here.”
“The pistol was of little use to the miss.” Running Feather pulled it from his belt and passed it to Thomas.
“Because you were tricky,” she said.
The Indian laughed. “Tricky is what Indians do best. Had woman been caught by another brave, woman not brought back.” The smile flattened. “Woman would have been tied with rope, stripped of man pants and found a woman.”
Thomas tossed the plaid to the table, shoved the brave aside, and reached for the rope around her hands.
“Braves’ hearts fill with fire of mother earth at woman’s trickery and beauty. Indians take woman over and over—”
“Running Feather, ‘tis enough,” Thomas snarled.
The lass’ fingers trembled against his. He yanked at the last of the knot. The rope ends fell free.
“Woman full of foolish blood, P’catewah Wawakotichethe.”
Elizabeth’s brows stole upward.
“Black Fox.” Running Feather winked at her.
She turned a funny stare at Thomas.
“Never ye mind.” He handed the rope back to Running Feather.
The brave grabbed Thomas’ shoulder. “Black Fox and Running Feather speak outside away from woman.”
Thomas pointed a finger at the lass. “Ye stay in here.”
“So now I am a prisoner?”
“Ye are not, despite the fact that ye are also a thief.”
“I did not take it without just compensation.”
Ach! The words the lass used. She and Mac would get along famously.
“But ye did take it without asking.”
She at least had the grace to look away.
“There are two other doors and several windows upstairs ye can slip through if ye have a mind to jump. However, neither Running Feather nor I will come after ye, and what he said is true. Ye are a beautiful lass, and while your hair is not golden . . .” He swallowed the pain down his throat. “The Natives will still take ye in ways more horrible than ye can imagine. Then, they will make ye a squaw, and ye will bear their children.”
Because ye have more fire in your heart than Catharine ever hoped for, and they will admire ye and try to break ye all at the same time.
Her chin quivered.
He hated scaring her, but there seemed to be no other way.
“Warm yourself by the fire.” He turned for the door. “And do no try to cook. I would like there to be a house for my maither to come home to.”
He pulled the door closed behind him. A trencher slammed into the other side and bounced to the floor.
Aye, she was a warrior at heart alright. It may no have been there in her childhood or as a young girl, but she had endured much and would now fight against her circumstances just as he had.
His heart dropped just thinking about it.
Running Feather untied three rabbits from the back of his horse. “Running Feather watch house. Family of Black Fox leave. Woman and man come.”
“How long have they been gone?”
“Since the full moon.”
Ach! Nearly a month now?
“Iron Gun has price on head of P’cataweh Wawakotichethe.” The brave turned and made his way to the creek. “His offer to the brave who brings Black Fox to him has fired the hearts of many young bucks.”
Thomas followed. “I know.”
“Then why Black Fox come home?”
“To see that the others were safe.”
They wove around patches of snow. Leaves cracked beneath their feet. The cold air burned Thomas’ lungs.
At the creek’s edge, Running Feather lowered the rabbits to a rock. Thomas pulled the knife from the sheath hidden on the inside of his leggings. He took one rabbit. Running Feather took the others. Thomas pinched the back hide and made a small cut with the knife.
“Running Feather not speak of Iron Gun to family. Running Feather tell them border erupts in war that comes this way.” The brave frowned. “Even then, mother of Black Fox almost stay at farm. A stubborner woman The Great Spirit never made.”
“Ye are wrong there.” Thomas glanced back at the cabin.
“It helps your brother marries soon.”
The knife slipped. Thomas yanked his free hand clear. The blade scraped the rock.
Running Feather stopped and stared.
“I am fine,” Thomas grumbled.
Running Feather turned back to his rabbit. “Family go to
Baltimore Town for wedding.” He eased the rabbit’s legs loose from the hide. “Running Feather see them few days past. They are safe for now.”
Thomas set the rabbit aside and picked up the third. “Who is the lucky lass?”
“Hannah West.”
Thomas’ stomach soured. A cough breached his throat. By the time he had it back under control, Running Feather had taken the third rabbit and was nearly finished stripping it of its hide.
“Why Black Fox order raid?”
“Blue Hoof said the cabin had only warriors. I should have known he could not be trusted.”
“It helped not Black Fox had more than exacted his revenge.”
Thomas was well aware of that, too. ‘Twas just that, once he started, he could not seem to stop.
But he had now.
“If Thomas told Iron Gun truth?”
“Nae.” Thomas shook his head. “He is not likely to let me within spitting distance of him to explain anything.”
“Red Bear help?”
The caustic laugh stung Thomas’ throat. “Not after his advice last summer to quit the raiding and to steer clear of Blue Hoof.” Why Thomas had not listened he had no idea. He and Red Bear had been fast friends at one time. “Besides, ‘twas the revenge in my heart that caused it, and I have now forfeited my life.”
“But family of Black Fox deserves not the fate Black Fox’s hate brings them.”
“Once I am sure they are secure and will stay in Baltimore Town for a time, I will be going to Iron Gun and offering my scalp in exchange for theirs.”
The brave jerked the last of the skin from the rabbit. He rose upward. “Taking the scalp of P’cataweh Wawakotichethe is the least Iron Gun will do.”
The bile slammed into Thomas’ throat. He knew that, but ‘twas still hard to hear.
“And what will Black Fox do with French woman?”
“She has some fool notion of going to Fort Oswego. She is a French Neutral, one of the Acadians, although her father is a British doctor with the army at the fort. Would there be some way ye could take her?”
“No.” The word was long and drawn out. Thomas thought it would never end.
The men picked up their rabbits and started back to the house.
“Woman beautiful. Woman not get far before capture. They make her squaw. Too brave.”
Thomas’ gut tightened. “I offered to take her to her people in Baltimore Town, but she is not willing to return.”
He now realized, too late, that she was downright terrified of going back.
They stepped to the porch.
“Running Feather not take woman, but will take message.” Running Feather turned to him. “For Black Fox. Not for woman.”
The front door opened. Elizabeth stood in the threshold. The skirt shifted around her hips in gentle waves. On top of her head lay the lacy cap of the Acadians. The wooden crucifix hung from her neck. A braid as thick as rope lay over her shoulder, the tip end dipping well past her breasts.
What he would nae do to pull such hair free. He would lose his fingers in the tresses. His arms would quiver.
The desire exploded into anger.
At her for being so beautiful.
At himself for being so weak.
I have had such desires well under control the past two years. Why are they now surfacing as I go to my end?
She rushed forward.
He reared back into the post.
She held a cup of tea forward. “I am staying inside, but you need to drink this. You are on the mend. You need to stay so.”
Thomas took the cup from her.
“I have put the plaid back into the trunk.” She shoved her hand into her pocket, then pulled out a piece of paper. “And this is the note I wrote this morning before I left. You will see I did leave you something to compensate for the plaid.”
He took the letter. “The thing of it is, Lass, the plaid can never carry a just price. It belonged to my father. ‘Twas the only thing he brought with him from Scotland after the Rising of ’15 and into his exile here.”
Her bottom lip set to quivering. “I have said I am sorry. Will you turn me in for stealing?”
Why would she think that?
“No, of course not.” He drank deeply of the tea.
The lass’ soft steps eased to the door.
“Wait, Elizabeth.”
She turned back to him.
“Running Feather has offered to take a letter from you to your father at Fort Oswego. You will have to agree, however, to return to Baltimore Town.”
Her face soured.
Thomas had added the last part, but he knew Running Feather would nae mind.
“I am sorry, Monsieur McQueen, but as I said before, I cannot go back to the Fottrell House.”
“I said nothing about the Fottrell House. Ye could just return to Baltimore Town. I will find ye a job and a place to stay. ’Twould of course only be temporary and until your father comes.”
She looked at Running Feather. “How long till you can find my father?”
“Running Feather say not time.” He shrugged.
She turned back to Thomas. “You will explain to my employer that I have no wish to sign an indenture?”
Ach! His offer just got harder. After all, the lass would require training, and an employer wanted such efforts to result in work for at least a time.
The words whished through his teeth. “I will see there is no indenture.” Somehow.
“Do I have time to think about it?”
“Nae. We will be leaving at first light.”
Her lips rolled inward. Her eyes darted left and right.
He had fought a pitched battle with her for two days now. If she dinna agree to this arrangement, the only option left was forced removal. Why that idea bothered him so, after all he had done the past two years, he knew not.
Finally, she lifted her gaze. “Merci. I go to write the letter now.”
––––––––
ELIZABETH SAT AT THE desk in the bedroom. Fingal lay at her feet. Outside, harsh whispers passed between the men.
She yawned, then widened her eyes. Perhaps she could nap this afternoon. She could still help with packing this evening. After a good night’s sleep, she would be ready to go in the morning.
She lifted the quill and dipped it in the ink.
She poured out the journey on the Leopard. She wrote of the death of her grandparents and their burial at sea. She told of the landing at Annapolis and the removal of the Acadians to Baltimore Town.
Papa, Josué is dead, and I am all alone.
She went on to write that she was in Baltimore Town, and he could find her there. She did not tell him of the false accusations leveled against her brother by their friends and family nor of the request made of her to right the supposed injustice.
She certainly did not mention Monsieur McQueen.
The former her father could do nothing about. The latter would only worry him further.
She closed with her love and her hope to see him as soon as he was able to come. She folded the paper, lifted the candle before her, and dropped a blob of wax on the seam. She made her way through the rooms and to the porch.
Thomas turned to her.
Her nerves tightened. Was she ready to trust this man with her person?
What other choice did she have?
She thrust the letter forward before she could lose her nerve. Thomas took it from her hand.
“I will be ready to leave at first light.” She whirled around.
“Wait, Elizabeth.”
A slight Scottish brogue laced her name. She shivered.
“There has been a change of plans.”
She turned to him.
“We leave today after the nooning.”
––––––––
THE BEDROOM DOOR SLAMMED closed. Thomas turned to the porch railing and grabbed for it.
Two or three more days with her would surely do him in.
He had warred with Running Feather about the need to leave today. He understood Iron Gun’s warriors had been seen in the area. He knew they might well be on their way to Baltimore Town even now. The lass, however, after days of little sleep, was exhausted. Last night’s escape had not helped matters.
In the end, though, he had to agree they needed to leave as soon as possible. He would not, however, tell Elizabeth of their danger. He would rather endure her anger than her fear.
“Black Fox is coming to care for woman.”
Thomas swiveled around to the man. “Ye are mad.”
And why did she vex him so? Why could she not be like Catharine? Sweet. Pliable. Why could she not do as he asked? And why was she so afraid of the Fottrell House and her own people?
Running Feather eased to within inches of his side. “Woman will gentle the war fire raging in the heart of Thomas McQueen. Already it happens.”
Thomas foisted a black stare at the brave. “She will have nae time for God willing—”
“Black Fox call on God, but not believe?”
“God willing,” he hissed, “in five days’ time I will be free of her.” And on to his future nae matter how bleak.
He jabbed a finger at Running Feather’s chest. “And ye well know I am nae free to love any lass. But if I were?” He pointed at the bedroom door. “It would certainly nae be that one.”