Chapter 2
Seneca Country—the American frontier
Autumn 1764
Alate autumn gale swept down from the arctic tundra, raking the northern wilderness and lashing the cold, black waters of Lake Ontario into a seething frenzy. South of the great lake, ancient trees groaned and bent under the howling fury. Trunks snapped and crashed to the forest floor, sending deer and smaller animals fleeing before the storm.
Gusts shook the oaken gates of the walled Iroquois village, howled through the cracks in the palisade, and ripped at the elm-bark coverings of the Seneca longhouses. Inside, families huddled close around their fires while elders muttered about ghosts and other supernatural creatures that wandered on such nights.
The female slave who had once been Elizabeth Anne Fleming and was now known as Ugly Woman drew another fur robe over her sleeping children and wrapped herself in a blanket.
“I told you to bring in wood before dark,” said Yellow Drum’s first wife, Raven.
Elizabeth knew it was useless to remind Raven that-she had carried in enough fuel to last throughout the night and all of tomorrow.
“She’s lazy,” Raven told her husband in the shrill whine that never failed to set Elizabeth’s teeth on edge. “Lazy and stupid. We’ll all freeze in our sleep because of her thoughtlessness.”
“She’s going for more wood,” Yellow Drum replied.
“I’m going,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Sell her,” Raven urged.
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and steeled herself for the coming confrontation.
Raven didn’t disappoint her. “She is stupid and worthless. Sell her to the Delaware trader. Where else will you get such a price for an ugly fox-haired woman?”
“My daughter speaks sense,” said Raven’s gray-haired father, Tracks Elk. He drew another deep puff on his clay trade pipe and blew out the smoke slowly. The scent of tobacco mingled with the odors of roasting chestnuts and damp wool.
“Why are you standing here with that stupid look on your face?” Raven demanded. “Go get the wood.”
Elizabeth murmured a submissive reply and left the hearth area. Raven’s home was the second from the end of a longhouse divided into private areas by thin inner curtains of reeds and deerskins. To reach the two outer entrances on either end of a longhouse, it was necessary for those families who lived in the inner apartments to pass through the adjoining families’ living quarters.
Elizabeth passed through her neighbor’s home in silence, and they ignored her, as was proper. When six or more families inhabited the same longhouse, rules were established to insure privacy. One of those was to ignore what didn’t directly concern you.
Elizabeth untied the exterior door flap and sheltered her face with her hands against the blast of wind. She pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders and leaned into the storm as she crossed the common ground to reach the communal wood storage area.
It was very dark and cold. Luckily, she didn’t need to see where she was going; she knew the village streets by heart.
Elizabeth tried not to let Raven’s harsh words or those of her mistress’s aging father bother her. Raven had threatened to make Yellow Drum sell her many times, and yet she was still here.
“This is my hearth and the longhouse of my family,” Raven had railed at Elizabeth over and over in the past. “An Iroquois man listens to his wife in all matters of the home. I do not want you, and I will not have you here, eating my food and ruining the fine skins my husband brings back from the hunt.”
“Sell us back to the white settlements,” Elizabeth had replied before she’d grown wise enough to hold her tongue.
“Us? There is no us!” Raven would fling back at her, usually accompanied by a blow from her fist or a kick. Elizabeth had grown very good at avoiding Raven’s physical attacks, but nothing could block the never-ending flood of verbal abuse. “The children are mine by Seneca law. You have no rights to them,” Raven always shrieked. “You are nothing! Lower than a toad.”
“I gave them life,” Elizabeth would insist. “They love me. Even you cannot separate a mother from her children.”
“They are Seneca,” her mistress would remind her. “Despite their pale skins, they will soon forget you—a deformed female so slow of wit that she cannot even learn to speak the tongue of humans properly.”
Yes, Elizabeth mused, as she kept walking into the wind. Yellow Drum’s chief wife had threatened to sell her many times, but never to the whites. Yellow Drum had vowed that he would never let her return to her own kind. She knew too much of Seneca ways, he said. She knew where the summer hunting camps and the sacred burial grounds lay. She knew how many warriors Yellow Drum could summon to make war against his neighbors, and she knew how many men carried guns.
“I will kill her before I sell her to the English or the French,” he had declared at the council fire last spring. From such a stand, there could be no retreat. An Iroquois war chief’s word to his people must be kept, or no one would trust him. He would lose face, and no brave would follow him into battle.
Yellow Drum would not let her go back, but he might sell her to another Indian. Especially now.
Last night, Elizabeth had refused to let her master have sex with her. She had not lain with him since her daughter was born three years ago. Naturally, she had breast-fed Rachel, and it was customary for an Iroquois woman to abstain from pleasures of the mat until her last child was weaned. Elizabeth’s milk had dried up in the spring. For months, she’d hidden the fact that she was no longer nursing her daughter. In late summer, Raven had discovered her secret and had demanded that her husband either sell Elizabeth or get her with child again.
Last night, he had tried. She had won that contest, but tonight might be different. Even though Yellow Drum had made it plain that having sex with her was a duty, rather than a pleasure, she knew she’d hurt his pride. Yellow Drum was a stern warrior, but not a cruel one. He had forced her to have sex with him the first time because Raven had driven him to it. He’d always performed the act quickly, rolling away as soon as he’d spilled his seed into her. And the next few days, he’d always seemed unwilling to look into her eyes. Still, he could be stubborn and dangerous if his honor was threatened. He might not want to have sex with Elizabeth, but if he thought he had to do it to prove his manhood, he would be difficult to deny again.
Elizabeth threw up her hands just in time to keep from walking into the corner of a longhouse. She knew her way through the village, but the wind made walking difficult. Her teeth were chattering and her fingers numb by the time she reached the storage shed.
Balancing an armload of frozen branches while trying to keep the blanket around her wasn’t easy. She turned to start back, and had taken three steps when she stopped short. Standing in the faint light of the opening was the silhouette of a huge shaggy animal.
“Oh!” she cried out, not sure if this apparition was animal or human.
“Don’t be frightened,” a deep masculine voice said. The man parted his robe so that she could see his face.
Elizabeth’s heart was pounding. “I don’t know you,” she said. Every man in the village was familiar to her. This could only be the Delaware half-breed who’d come to trade with the Seneca. Many Blushes had pointed him out to Elizabeth earlier in the day. She’d gotten only a glimpse of him across the dance ground, but he was not a man a woman was likely to forget.
The stranger’s skin was light, his blue-black hair worn long with a thin braid on either side of his handsome face. His shoulders were wide, broader even than Yellow Drum’s, and his bare arms bulged with muscle. He had the look of a predatory wolf, and his eyes had followed her.
She hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away from him until Many Blushes had tugged at her sleeve. “Yellow Drum is a jealous man,” the young woman had reminded her. “It won’t do to show a lack of modesty by staring at the trader.”
Now, Elizabeth was face-to-face with this man, and she was frightened. “Let me pass,” she said.
“Why are you out on such a night?” he asked.
She trembled like a leaf in the wind. “Let me go, I say.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“Yellow Drum will come to see what’s keeping me.” She tried to move around the stranger, but he stepped to block her way. “Please,” she said. “I will be beaten.”
“Are you his wife?”
She shook her head. “I am unwed. He is my master.”
“What do they call you?”
She would not say the hateful words. “My name is none of your affair, Delaware. Let me pass, or I will scream.”
“I swear to you, I will not hurt you. I came to see to my horse. He’s tied in the abandoned longhouse beyond this building. When I saw you, I wondered who would let a woman—”
“I don’t have time to talk to you,” she said. “Please, let me go.”
He put his hand on her arm, and she flinched. “Let me help you,” he said. “I’ll carry your wood.”
Stunned, she let him take her burden. What manner of madman was this, she wondered, to do a slave’s work? “A Seneca warrior does not ... does not carry firewood,” she stammered.
He chuckled, a deep, hearty sound. “It’s as well I am not a Seneca warrior.”
Words formed in her mind and came tumbling out. “You cannot,” she protested. “You will cause a scandal! Men will laugh at you. And ... and I will be beaten!”
“Then we’d best not let them see us, shall we?” he answered. And before she could do anything to stop him, he turned and strode out of the shelter with her wood.
She hurried to keep up. The wind was behind her now, pushing her along. “You shouldn’t do this,” she protested. “You don’t understand.” But he kept walking and she was helpless to do anything but follow.
“You’re going the wrong way,” she said when he turned left at an intersecting path. “There.” She pointed. Again, she heard a deep chuckle.
“Best you show me the way,” he rumbled.
There seemed to be no choice but to obey. When they reached the outer doorway of Raven’s longhouse, the stranger carefully put the branches back into her arms. “Thank you,” she said. She was still shocked. No Seneca man would have thought of helping with a woman’s chores, and few females would assist a slave. This Delaware was unlike any brave she’d ever known.
“It will be our secret,” he answered.
Still shaken, she hurried through the neighbor’s hearth place and into Raven’s. She need not have worried. Yellow Drum and Raven were still arguing. No one paid her any mind as she added the new wood to the pile against the far wall.
“Ugly Woman is my property,” Yellow Drum proclaimed to his chief wife. “I took her from the English, and I sired a fine son and a daughter on her. I alone will decide when and if I grow weary of her.”
“This is my hearth,” said Raven. “I say it is time to be rid of her. Winter is coming. Why feed another useless mouth? Take the Delaware’s offer. Where will you find another rifle like his?”
“Keep your voice down,” Yellow Drum said. “Do you want everyone in the longhouse to hear your nagging?”
“Why should I be silent?” Raven demanded sarcastically. “Last night you went to her mat, and she drove you away. It is common knowledge in the long-house, probably throughout the village, that you did not scratch your face hunting. Why shouldn’t I say what everyone is already joking about?”
Elizabeth crouched in the shadows beside her children and stroked her daughter’s hair. Flickering firelight shone on one chubby cheek and made the little girl’s soft, dark tresses gleam. “My Rachel,” Elizabeth whispered. The Seneca called her Fawn That Drinks at First Light, but in Elizabeth’s heart, and when they were alone together, she was always Rachel.
A lump rose in Elizabeth’s throat. Rachel and Jamie were her most precious possessions. Nothing and no one would part her from them. She’d rather die. But neither did she wish to bear another child of rape.
“What say you, Many Blushes?” Raven asked Yellow Drum’s second wife. The young squaw giggled and murmured something Elizabeth couldn’t hear.
Many Blushes was a Cayuga, new to the Seneca village and to her marriage. Yellow Drum had joined with her in early summer. Elizabeth was certain that plump, laughing Many Blushes was the reason Yellow Drum had been willing to stay away from her sleeping mat and Raven’s for so long.
“Surely you must have an opinion, Many Blushes?” Raven pressed. “Do you believe that a slave should be allowed to drive her master from her bed?”
“This is not her affair,” Yellow Drum said sharply. “Many Blushes is—”
“Is a Seneca wife with rights,” Raven interrupted. “Speak, Many Blushes. What say you about your husband’s rebellious slave woman?”
Many Blushes made a little sound that might have been agreement or simply air whistling through her perfectly even, small, white teeth. It was a sound that had echoed through the family’s private quarters often since Many Blushes had married Yellow Drum, and one that Elizabeth supposed Raven hated as much as she did, but for very different reasons.
“Do not be afraid,” Yellow Drum urged. “Tell us what you think about this matter.”
“I think all the women at this hearth should do our best to make Yellow Drum happy,” Many Blushes cooed. “He is a great man and should be honored in his own home above all.”
Elizabeth let out her breath slowly. Many Blushes would be no help. As senior wife, Raven held the power in the family, and Raven hated Elizabeth with all the malevolent enmity of an aging, barren wife toward a younger, fruitful concubine. The only reason she’d put up with Elizabeth this long was that having children increased Raven’s status among the Seneca. Now that Yellow Drum had taken a second wife, any children she had would increase Raven’s position in the tribe. Elizabeth was no longer necessary to her.
A frigid blast of air gusted through the longhouse as someone opened the door at the far end. Smoke and ashes swirled up in a whirlwind, causing Yellow Drum and the others to cough. Elizabeth heard the exchange of greetings between a newcomer and those at the first hearth. Manners demanded that those who lived in a communal dwelling ignore voices at another firepit, but it was impossible not to know what went on. She twisted around to look at the deerskin drape that divided Raven’s hearth space from her cousin’s.
A dog growled. Elizabeth heard an unmistakable thud, and then the dog yelped in pain. His claws scratched on the reed floor covering, and he let out a piercing whine as he scrabbled to find refuge in the storage area beneath the sleeping platform.
On the far side of the doorway to Raven’s hearth place, a man cleared his throat.
“Enter,” Yellow Drum said.
A hand parted the deerskin hangings and the Delaware half-breed’s face appeared. Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. If he told Yellow Drum that they had spoken—if he mentioned that he’d carried wood for her—she would pay the price.
For an instant his gaze locked with hers. Elizabeth knew the risk she took in meeting his stare so boldly, but his dark eyes were mesmerizing. A shiver ran through her body, and she felt suddenly light-headed. When she had seen him from across the dance ground, she’d been struck by his proud, handsome features and magnificent body. In the woodshed, a few minutes ago, it had been too dark to see him clearly. Now, close up, without his outer garments, she had a full view of his scarred chest, hard-muscled thighs, and long, thewy legs. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips and gripped an upright post to keep from losing her balance.
Then he stepped into the room, straightened, and dismissed her with the barest hint of a smile that made her blood race. Elizabeth drew in a ragged breath. Yellow Drum was a big man, but he had never made their hearth place seem small, as this fierce-eyed Delaware warrior did.
Outside, the gale winds rattled the walls, shrieked through the seams of the elm-bark roof, and tore at the smoke hole with icy talons. I should be cold, she thought. But she wasn’t. An inner heat rose to flush her cheeks and scorch her skin, as if she’d been standing too close to the fire.
The stranger spoke, offering a formal greeting to Yellow Drum in a deep, husky Iroquoian with only the slightest accent. The Seneca war chief mumbled a stiff reply and grudgingly motioned his guest closer to the hearth. Without another glance in Elizabeth’s direction, the tall half-breed crossed the room and dropped gracefully to the bearskin rug in the place of honor across from Yellow Drum. “It is an evil night,” he said. “Winter comes early this year.”
Raven’s father, Tracks Elk, coughed and leaned forward. “The cry of the wild goose echoes through our village, and the beaver pelts are thicker than normal. We shall see deep snow this year and cold such as few men have known.”
The Delaware nodded solemnly. “This man has seen an edge of ice on the streams to the south. The trees bear many nuts. It may be as you tell us, wise sachem.”
Elizabeth tried not to laugh. Raven’s father was no chief and he was certainly not wise, but it was obvious from the way his spine stiffened and his chin went up that the old man was pleased by the flattery.
“A warrior would have to be a fool to live so many years and learn nothing,” Tracks Elk replied.
Raven sniffed loudly, scooped up a bowl of roasted chestnuts, and motioned to Many Blushes. Both women retreated into the shadows. Elizabeth waited for Raven to bring out meat or fish to set before the Delaware, and when she didn’t, the hair rose on the back of Elizabeth’s neck. She opened her mouth to warn the stranger, then realized what she was about to do and clenched her teeth tightly together.
The first rule among the Iroquois was loyalty to kin; the second was to offer hospitality to any traveler. If Raven didn’t give the Delaware food or drink, it was because she wished him ill. Once he had taken refreshment at her hearth it would be impossible for Yellow Drum to harm him.
If Elizabeth tried to alert him to Raven’s omission, she would break the first rule and bring disaster on herself. This disturbing stranger was a threat to her and to her children. Whether he lived or died was not her affair.
So why did she feel so guilty?
“This man leaves your village tomorrow,” the Delaware said. “You have a fair offer for your slave woman. Is it that you do not wish to part with her?”
“No!” Elizabeth cried.
Yellow Drum’s head snapped around, and he glared at her.
She refused to be cowed. “I will not go with you!” she declared to the Delaware.
Raven gave her a rough shove. “Hold your tongue, slave,” she ordered. “Ignore her,” she said. “She is too stupid to know when to chatter and when to be still.”
“As you see, I am lenient with my women,” Yellow Drum said, making an obvious effort to control his temper. “I spoil them.”
“So it seems,” the newcomer observed.
“Buy someone else,” Elizabeth said, suddenly fearful that she might be separated from her children. “I stay here.”
The half-breed chuckled. “Your household must be an interesting one.”
Yellow Drum spat into the fire. “A man of strength such as myself has a strong appetite,” he growled. “Even three women are not enough to satisfy it. Why do you want this worthless slave? Have you no wife of your own?”
The visitor shook his head.
“I do not even know your name,” Tracks Elk whined. “Have you a name?”
“He is Sinew,” Yellow Drum said. “Sinew of the Wolf Clan.”
Sinew. The name fitted him perfectly, Elizabeth thought. His hands were lean, his bronzed arms corded with muscle; he moved with the fluid grace of a mountain cat. She couldn’t help but notice the two eagle feathers that dangled from a knot at the back of his unbound hair. Two, she thought, two eagle feathers. He is either a lying boaster or a man of valor.
With deliberate will, she hardened her heart against him. It didn’t matter who or what this Sinew was. He was nothing to her, and she’d not let him tear her from her children. If the Iroquois chose to murder him, she would turn away and let him meet his fate.
“So, Sinew,” Tracks Elk said slyly. “Why don’t you have a wife? Are you too poor a hunter to bring in meat for a household, or are you one who prefers the company of other braves?”
Elizabeth wasn’t certain if the Delaware understood the insults or if he simply chose to ignore them. “Some men choose not to marry,” he said without rancor. His gaze fixed on the dancing flames that rose from the fire pit. “But as the esteemed elder has said, the winter will be cold. This one will need someone to cure his furs and warm his bed.”
Yellow Drum’s eyes glittered maliciously in the firelight. “There are many women. Why do you want this one enough to offer such a fine gun and powder for her?”
Their guest chuckled again. “As you say, there are many women, but not many with hair like autumn leaves. Yellow Drum the Seneca has a great appetite. Sinew the Delaware has a fancy to taste something different—a red-haired woman.”
Wanton images of lying beneath this virile stranger while he drove his hard man spear into her body formed in the back of Elizabeth’s mind and made her voice quiver. “Sinew will taste the point of my knife first,” she said with more courage than she felt. “I am no whore to be passed from hand to hand.” Her brazen thoughts shocked her even as she protested loudly. Other women claimed enjoyment from the act of sex; she never had known pleasure. What was wrong with her that she could imagine such an intimate act with a stranger?
“Silence!” Yellow Drum thundered. “It is my will, not yours, that matters. I will keep you, sell you, or cut your throat as it pleases me.”
Sinew stood up. “Her manners are less than one would expect, but my offer still stands. One French pistol, one long rifle, powder and shot for each, and twenty beaver pelts.”
“Scissors and needles,” Raven reminded him. “You also promised a sewing kit.”
“And a sewing kit,” the Delaware agreed. “But I must have your answer by morning. There is another red-haired woman among the Ojibwa. If you cannot part with this one, I will—”
“Go then, Sinew,” Yellow Drum said, rising as well. “And may the wind be at your back and your traps heavy with beaver. This woman I do not wish to sell. At least not tonight.”
“So be it,” Sinew murmured. He nodded to Raven. Elizabeth trembled with emotion, certain that the Delaware would say something more to her in parting, but he didn’t. He turned and left the hearth place without another word or glance in her direction.
“You will let so much slip through your fingers?” Raven demanded angrily. She did not bother to lower her voice. Their neighbors on either side could not help but hear. Even the stranger could not miss her outcry. “You burden me with this woman for yet another winter?”
“Cease your mouth!” her husband snapped back. He pinned Elizabeth with his gaze. “And you! You’ve shamed me long enough.” He pointed to his sleeping robes. “Make yourself ready for me. If you insist on disrupting my life, you will at least give me—”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No.” A moment before, she had imagined lying down with the stranger. Yellow Drum she knew all too well, and she would have no part of him, no matter the consequences.
The Seneca’s face twisted with disbelief. “What did you say, Ugly Woman?”
“I said no,” she said stubbornly. She was terrified. Her knees felt as though they were melting to pine gum; her stomach pitched as hard as it had the time she and Jamie had been caught on the lake in a sudden summer thunderstorm and the waves rose as high as her head. Although the thought of going with a stranger was terrible, the certainty of rape was worse. “I will bear you no more children, Yellow Drum. Do what you wish, but I will lie under you no more.”
He launched himself at her, but she was quicker. She dodged his charge and put the fire between them. With a howl of rage, he leaped across the hearth at her. His right foot landed safely on rock, but the left struck the edge of the pit, sending sparks flying. Elizabeth did not wait to see what happened. She fled like a wounded doe through the deerskin hanging into the next hearth area.
Ignoring the startled cries of her neighbors, she reached the outer door in three bounds and dashed into the bitterly cold, pitch-black night. Behind her, she heard Yellow Drum’s cries of rage mingled with women’s shouts of confusion. Then Elizabeth slammed into an immovable object. She bounced back and would have fallen to her knees if strong hands hadn’t seized her shoulders.
Too frightened to scream, she threw up her hands and felt the hairy pelt of an animal. Demon or bear, she didn’t know what had her, but she was past the point of reason. She struck out at her captor with both fists. All-too-human grunts of pain told her that her blows had found a flesh-and-blood opponent.
Before she could lash out again, she heard Yellow Drum’s shout behind her. Someone grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her back so hard that she felt the bones in her neck pop. In the blink of an eye, she slammed against the frozen earth, and Yellow Drum’s foot crushed her chest.
A torch flared. Raven’s cruel face materialized in the circle of light. Others crowded close around them. Elizabeth tried to draw a breath, but Yellow Drum leaned down with all his weight, pressing the life out of her. She couldn’t see his features in the darkness, but she caught the gleam of a steel blade.
As Yellow Drum’s knife plunged down toward her throat, Elizabeth closed her eyes and waited for death to find her. Seconds passed. When she opened them again, she saw Sinew and Yellow Drum in the light of a flaring torch held by Raven. Sinew was wearing a heavy fur robe, and his fingers were tightly clamped around Yellow Drum’s right wrist.
“Dead she is worth nothing,” the Delaware said. “And if you kill her, you will have the trouble of burying her body in this frozen ground.” His voice was low and powerful, heavy with an unspoken threat.
“Take your hand off me,” the war chief hissed, “or I will kill you and then the slave and throw both your bodies outside the walls for the wolves.”
Sinew shrugged, but he did not release Yellow Drum’s arm. “Naturally, you must decide what is best to do with the woman,” he said, maintaining a reasonable tone. “But this man has heard it said that the Seneca war chief is wise beyond—”
“Mama! Mama!” Jamie wiggled past Raven and flung himself on top of her. “Many Blushes says you’re going to kill her, Father. I won’t let you!”
“Raven, take the boy back into the longhouse,” Yellow Drum commanded.
“Jamie,” Elizabeth groaned. Her son was nearly naked, shaking with cold. “Don’t—”
“No!” Her son balled his small fists and pounded Yellow Drum’s calf and knee. “Let her go. Let my Mama go! I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Shh, shh, Otter,” Many Blushes soothed, taking the boy’s arm. “You must not behave so. You must—”
“Get him out of here,” Yellow Drum bellowed.
“Please, Many Blushes,” Elizabeth begged. “Don’t let him see—”
Jamie shrieked as Many Blushes lifted him kicking and struggling and carried him back toward the house. More and more Seneca poured from the surrounding longhouses. Village dogs barked and snarled. Some braves carried guns. One man placed the muzzle of his rifle against the Delaware’s chest. “Shall I kill him for you, Yellow Drum?” he asked. At the back of the crowd, a girl giggled.
“Are you going to make a complete fool of yourself?” Raven demanded.
“No,” Yellow Drum said. “I am not.” He glanced at Sinew. “Hold him.”
Three warriors pulled him away and pinned his arms behind his back. Yellow Drum knelt beside Elizabeth and brought his face close to hers. “You have earned death this night,” he said. He seized a handful of her hair and raised his scalping knife.
She closed her eyes once more and waited stoically for the death blow.