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THE PRIEST’S CRYPTIC remarks gnawed and chewed at Thomas.
So she was not safe among her own people. Was she in danger even in Baltimore Town?
Was her father on his way? Or would it be months before he came?
And how long could Thomas stay here? If Red Bear was not already in the trees and behind the mischief, he would be soon.
The rest of the afternoon Thomas sat by her side. He fed her broth and worked Jesuit’s Bark tea down her throat. She complained about the bitter taste, but he gave her nae choice. Once or twice she stirred to ask a question or to pray and pull the black rosary beads through her fingers.
Mostly, she lay still as death, as if the slightest effort was painful at best and would crack her bones at worst.
Towards morning she cried out against the cold, and the ordeal started all over again, this time seemingly more debilitating than before. Thomas wrapped her and held her, but she shook till he was certain neither of them would have a sound tooth in their heads. A little over an hour later the fever started, and well into the morning, he was forced to take her back to the creek.
By nightfall, she lay stiller than death. Again.
Thus the week wore on. One day of rest. Another of shivering, high fevers, and the unrelenting sweating, only to go at it again. Despite Colina and Sarah’s help, for she had insisted to Mac she would do so, Thomas’ mind numbed and his body stiffened with his own aches and pains. The days blurred. The nights filled with shadows. Whispered prayers fell from her parched lips.
For the first time in two years, they nearly fell from his own.
He had nae time to think of what the lass feared from her own people, nor did he think much about her being found.
Halfway through the second week, after two previous fevers they had managed to control with rags, he again found himself in the creek. He swirled her around. He pooled the water in his hand and poured it over her head. He sat on a rock and let the water flow over them.
When the fever finally abated, he made his way to the bank. He grabbed the red quilt from a bush, set the lass to her feet, wrapped her in it, and hauled her back up and into his arms. He started up the rise.
Ach! What he would nae do to carry and hold her like this when she was well. When she could wrap her arms around his neck, press her chest against his, and search for his lips with her own.
He would give her little trouble in finding them.
He breached the rise. A breeze kissed his bare shins. Fingal barked and shot into camp. Thomas stepped to the front corner of the large tent and froze.
His gut crashed to the ground. He let a string of curse words loose.
“Is something wrong?” Elizabeth lifted her head. She followed his gaze.
To his right and near the corral stood Constable Radley.
The lass had been found.
––––––––
SHE STARTED SHAKING and not from the cold.
Thomas tightened his hold. Across camp, Fingal barked wildly. Thomas jerked around the corner and into the tent. He lay her on the bed. He repositioned the wet blanket atop her.
She shivered. “’Tis cold.”
“Ye know it has to stay on a while to keep the fever down.” He reached for a cool rag, rang the water out, and set it to her forehead.
She grabbed his wrist. “I am feeling a bit better. I could go to the creek or—”
“Ye will be fine here.” He grabbed her cheeks. “Have I let ye down yet?”
She rolled her lips tight. Her eyes misted.
He let go and turned. He had to get out of the tent and to Radley before the man took it upon himself to come closer or, God forbid, inside. The lass was already scared out of her mind. Having the big, beefy constable making threats would set her back even further.
He wove through the trees and to the center bonfire. He stopped
to tell Issy that now was a good time to take Elizabeth the doll she had made in the lass’ likeness. The child’s face lit up. She took off.
He made his way toward the corral in the far corner of camp. Radley turned.
William leaned on the hoe. “Well, there ye are, Brother. I was just telling Radley here I had nae idea where ye were.”
Thomas would not have thought it of him, especially since the man knew precisely where he had been.
Above them, Mac squatted on the roof of a three-sided temporary log shelter for the livestock, a shingle in one hand, a hammer in the other.
“Thomas?” Radley held out a hairy hand.
Thomas knifed a swift glare at the arm. He had nae time for handshakes and frivolities. “Speak your mind, Radley. I am in a hurry.”
Heavy, pale lips curtained horse-like teeth. “I understand ye have Elizabeth Johns here. She and her brother escaped from town about two fortnights past.” The man balanced his elbow to the top railing. It bent beneath his weight.
Thomas’ nerves tightened. “I dinna think the Acadians were under lock and key at this point, so how could she have escaped?”
“Alrighty. They went missing, and we have been unable to locate them.”
“The brother is dead. Buried in my cemetery at Fearnought Farms.”
“And the lass?”
Not speaking of the lass was one thing. Lying to a constable was another.
“She is here but ill. My maither is tending her.”
“Your mother is Catholic.”
“Aye, but she is also a healer.”
Leveling a blow at the man was not a good idea. Thomas crawled through the fencing. He had to do something or his fists might go to work.
“You were seen going to the Fottrell House last week. And later Father Bergier was seen coming here.”
Thomas grabbed a pitchfork. He stabbed at a lump of hay. “Canna the man visit people?” He lifted the fork upward and sifted the hay. “And as I am certain William will tell ye, he came to discuss moving his wedding forward by a month.” A lump of dung rested in the tines. Thomas tossed it to the wheelbarrow. “Besides, the priest has not been here since.”
Radley laughed. “He comes to town only once a month. And he left for Doughoregan Manor after he was here.” His smile flattened. “The question is if he will return.”
“He likely will,” William said. “He visits my maither and she helps the Neutrals. But ye know this.”
“Yes. And ‘twould be her nature to keep a Neutral here. After all, like you said, she is a healer, and you papists are known to take care of your own.”
The term jarred Thomas’s spine, despite the fact he dinna consider himself one of them any longer.
Or did he?
He stabbed at the hay again. ‘Twas the only way to the stop the irritation threatening to explode his veins.
“Either way, ‘tis not well with the law,” Radley went on. “The lass will need to come with me.”
Over Thomas’ dead body.
Or Radley’s, if need be. He tightened his fingers on the pitchfork.
Fingal growled.
“Cù. Suidh sios.”
The dog sat on his haunches but speared Radley with a deadly glare.
Thomas tossed the pitchfork upward and caught the handle in the center. He held it parallel to the corral sod, the sharp tines aimed right at Radley’s gut.
The man stared at it.
“The Acadians at the Fottrell House will nae wish to have an ill woman thrust upon them.” One they thought themselves rid of at that. “And when they all sicken, ye will have a bigger problem on your hands.”
“If she is seasoning, then she is not contagious.”
“Do ye wish to take that chance? The pox has been seen south at Annapolis and across the Chesapeake in Queen Anne’s County.”
The man set to cracking his knuckles one by one. Thomas thought he would go mad against the strain.
“Fine.” Radley lowered his hands to his sides. “I will leave her here for now. But the minute she is able to leave that tent she will be taken back to the others.”
Thomas lifted the pitchfork above his head and drove it into the ground between them. “What if I were nae a Catholic? Could I keep her then?”
“You? An eligible widower? Keeping a young girl such as that with yourself?” The man laughed. “Even I have heard how bonnie she is.”
Radley passed a quick gaze between William and Mac. His smile flattened. “Is he serious?”
A long, searching look peeled from Mac’s eyes. “None of us quite know what is going on in his head at the moment.”
Radley focused on Thomas. “You could do with her as you wish, but you could not stay here with the others. We will not have these Acadians fraternizing with the Catholics. They are hard enough to control as it is. Why some are saying the Pope himself has asked them to rise up and join the French along the border.”
“The Acadians are weary and spent, Radley.” Thomas stomped to the wheelbarrow. “The idea they could aid the French on the border is laughable.” Except Thomas was not in a laughing mood.
Frustrated blood poured into his hands. He seized the barrow’s handles and lifted.
“’Tis nae full,” William said softly.
“Nae, but I am.” And he could stand it no longer. He pushed the wheelbarrow over the humps and valleys in the barn sod. He slung the gate back and pushed the wheelbarrow through.
He turned to close it, but William was already there, a disgusted look crawling across his face.
Thomas spun around and lifted again. Radley was right in front of him. Thomas drove the wheelbarrow forward. Radley jumped sideways.
Fingal growled and lunged.
Thomas headed into the trees. Radley, unfortunately, followed.
When he reached the pit that had been dug earlier, he let go of the handles. He grabbed a shovel, scooped the plops, and tossed them into the hole.
Radley tattered on. “You being here does not help matters where Iron Gun is concerned. You had better be careful.” Radley’s voice lowered to a menacing level. “I hear there is a price on your head.”
Thomas froze. The full shovel hung in the air. He slid a gaze sideways and down. The barn waste would sure look sweet on the constable’s white stockings and shiny, buckled shoes. The man would gasp and sputter.
And then Thomas would relocate his jaw. He certainly had enough flesh to work with.
Ach! He would only worsen matters for Elizabeth.
He twisted the shovel’s handle. The barn refuse tumbled into the pit.
Radley tipped his tricorn. “I will be back to check on her healing.” He turned and headed through the trees and back to the road.
Fingal followed. He nipped at the man’s heels.
Radley’s shoulders stiffened. His walk slowed, but he nae turned.
Thomas had nae intention of calling the dog back. He hastily emptied the rest of the wheelbarrow, then reached for the handles. He turned it around. Mac and William stood before him. “Who told?”
Both men insisted they had not. But if not them, then who?
And what was he to do now?
“The man is just doing his job,” William said. “Ye are going to make it harder on her and all of us by keeping her here.”
“Tom.” Mac grabbed the shovel. “’Tis time to send her back before ye do something as drastic as denying your faith.”
Was he willing to do so? Not taking part in the sacraments was not the same as telling the authorities he was no longer a Catholic.
On the other hand, to not do so may well mean . . .
“I will nae let them take her from me.”
“Take her from ye?” Mac’s hoarse whisper frazzled Thomas’ nerves. “Why would ye even think of it that way?”
He had nae idea. He gripped the barrow’s handles, lifted and pushed forward. The men parted to let him pass.
He reached the corral. A fluttering sound, like paper, reached his ears. He had nae time to find out the source. He had to get back to Elizabeth and let her know she was safe for the moment.
He dropped the handles. The wheelbarrow settled into the ground.
More fluttering.
The dog’s ears perked up. He jerked his head to the left and raced for the creek.
William walked to the back corner of the shed and around.
“Tom, the lass has ye bewitched.”
“She does not, Mac.”
“I have known ye all my life. I know when a lass has ye so.”
“Ye are mad.”
“Mac!” William cried. “Thomas!”
He and Mac stomped around the back corner of the lean-to.
William stood before a single piece of parchment flapping in the wind against a vertical log, his eyes transfixed as sure as the knife that held the paper in place.
Thomas’ skin prickled. He and Mac eased down the wall and stopped.
A crude four-legged animal had been painted upside down. The eyes had been gouged out. The head, along with the ears, had been scalped and left to lay at the side. The gut had been sliced open and twines of rope, nay, intestines trailed outward. Blood smeared the body so that Thomas could nae see what kind of animal it was.
And what did it mean? The Indians did not typically kill animals for pleasure. ‘Twould displease Wishemenetoo.
Behind him, near the creek, Fingal barked and crashed through the bushes on a hunt.
He grabbed the paper and yanked it free. His hands shook.
He stared at the black fur beneath the swirling, red painted blood.
“Thomas,” William snapped. “’Tis clearly Fingal in the picture, and Fingal is clearly your dog.”
Thomas rolled the paper and shoved it into his shirt pocket.
William grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “So that picture clearly tells us that whoever is behind the mischief wishes to harm anyone or anything ye care about.”
“It would appear so.” He turned to the creek. “Fingal! Trobhad!”
The dog whined sharply but turned and came up the rise.
Mac poked Thomas’ chest where the paper lay. “Did Iron Gun’s braves leave that? Have they come for ye?”
Fingal sat at Thomas’ feet.
William shifted his knee forward. “Now will ye tell me what happened last fall?”
Thomas lowered to his haunches. He scratched behind the dog’s ears. He leaned into the dog’s face and mouthed the words against the black prickly fur.
“A ‘dol gu Ealasaid.”
The dog barked sharp, then scampered into camp. Thomas rose to his feet.
William flattened a hand to Thomas’ chest. “Ye canna just walk away without an answer. Are the rumors true? Have ye turned cruel?”
“I dinna know what the rumors are, William. But losing your family like I did can change a man.”
Fingal dove into the lass’ tent, just as Thomas had asked.
“Mac lost Janie, but he dinna take to the frontier to wreak vengeance and bring more trouble to us.”
Perhaps not, but the hatred he foisted upon Elizabeth was clear proof he was doing no better than Thomas.
William groaned. “Then at least tell us of the danger we are in because of ye being here.”
“Iron Gun wants me.” Thomas’ throat filled with ash. “And I will be long gone before any danger is brought to the rest of ye.”
He shoved his brother aside and made his way into camp. He had to see to Elizabeth. She would tire of Issy readily enough despite her gratitude for the doll, and the fever may well not be over. The sweating would begin after that.
Whoever is behind the mischief wishes to harm anyone or anything ye care about.
Icy fingers squeezed his spine. He grabbed at a sapling to his right. His head swam. He nearly collapsed from the strain.
Whoever was behind the mischief may have threatened Fingal, but they would move to Elizabeth soon enough. If ‘twas Red Bear? If he realized Thomas was coming to care for the lass as a man to a maiden?
He lifted a hazy gaze to her tent.
He could trade his life for the others. He could not hope to do the same for Elizabeth. She was beautiful and strong, and Iron Gun would wish her for his own, and making her so, in Iron Gun’s eyes, would be just and right. After all, had not Thomas allowed the chief’s wife and son to burn? Ought he not to help heal Iron Gun’s heart by offering something in return?
She is nae safe around me.
He had to get her into the English clothes. He then would find her a job as soon as possible, for the savages may have taken Catharine’s life. But if they captured Elizabeth?
They would not stop till they had her soul.