Chapter 22
Elizabeth looked at Hunt and shook her head. “You’re wrong. The fever’s troubling you. This isn’t your lost sister—this is Fire Talon’s wife, Sweet Water.”
Sweet Water made a small, strangled sound and took a step toward him. “No ...” she whispered. “My Colin is dead.”
“Dead, hell!” Hunt insisted. “I don’t know what’s happened to your hair, but I’d bet my immortal soul that you’re Rebecca Gordon Brandt, born in Ireland and lost on the frontier when I was eight years old.”
Sweet Water’s eyes widened and she swayed slightly. “Mother of God,” she murmured, extending a hand toward Hunt. “Colin? Can it be?”
“You had red hair,” he answered hoarsely. “Red as an English fox.”
“And so it still would be,” she said, “did I not dye it with black walnut hulls.” Sweet Water moved closer to him. “With that great black beard it’s hard to tell, but your eyes ... Your eyes could be Colin’s.”
“You’re both crazy,” Elizabeth insisted, taking the Shawnee woman’s arm. “His name is Hunt Campbell.”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Becca,” he said. “You remember that day. You’d sent me to the creek for water. I didn’t come back, and you came to look for me.”
“Anyone could know that,” Elizabeth argued. “Indians could have told you.”
“What did they call the man who captured you?” Sweet Water demanded.
“My father was Wolf Robe of the Cheyenne,” Hunt said, “but the Shawnee called him the Stranger.”
Sweet Water flung herself on him and began to kiss his face and hair. “Colin! Colin!” she cried. “They said you were dead.”
He put his arms around her and held her as she wept tears of joy. “Becca,” he murmured. “Becca, don’t ...”
Elizabeth stood transfixed, watching them, still unable to believe what she’d heard. “His name is Hunt Campbell,” she repeated. “Hunt, not Colin.”
“My father, Wolf Robe, gave me an Indian name,” he explained when his sister had ceased to kiss him and contented herself with sitting beside him and clutching his hand. “Colin Gordon had nothing to do with the man I became. He died the day that cabin burned. I can’t remember my Irish father. When I was taken in by Ross Campbell, it seemed only natural that I should adopt his surname.”
Sweet Water glanced at Elizabeth. “He speaks truth. Among the Shawnee, a name is something private. My people often take English names.”
“But you’ve taken a Shawnee name ... a Shawnee husband,” Elizabeth replied.
“My father told me that you’d been traded back to the whites,” Hunt said. “That’s why I didn’t look for you among the Shawnee villages.”
“I hid my Christian name and my hair,” Sweet Water answered. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the backs of his knuckles. “I grew to love Fire Talon—the warrior who captured me.”
“You wed your captor?” Elizabeth asked.
The older woman chuckled. “We’ve often argued over who captured who, but I do love him, and he loves me. If you only knew how many years we searched for you. Then Fire Talon heard that a white boy died of the pox in the village where the Stranger’s Delaware wife lived. We assumed—”
“There was another white boy there. His name was John. We went ice-fishing together.” He looked thoughtful. “It must have been John who died.”
Elizabeth balled her hands into fists at her sides. “You two—sister and brother. It’s impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Sweet Water said, wiping tears off her cheeks. “My husband’s heart will leap with happiness. If you only knew how many nights he went to sleep with ears burning from my chiding over you.”
“I still don’t understand why you pretend to be Indian,” Elizabeth said.
The Shawnee woman turned a radiant smile on her. “I am Indian. It is no pretense. My husband’s people are my people. As it says in the Book of Ruth, ‘Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’ ”
“But you remain a Christian,” Elizabeth protested. “You wear a cross, and I’ve seen you read your Bible.”
Sweet Water nodded. “His God is still my God; there is only one. We may call him by different names, but there can be only one Creator.”
Still confused, Elizabeth persisted. “Why dye your hair?”
“Practical reasons,” Sweet Water said. “I dye my hair dark to keep the English from knowing that I was born Irish. Many white-skinned captives have been forced to return to the English settlements against their will; families have been divided. It seemed better to blend into the tribe than to be a source of trouble to the Shawnee.”
Elizabeth exhaled softly. “I asked you about your blue eyes, and you lied to me.”
Sweet Water chuckled. “I didn’t lie. I said that my grandfather was Scottish. That was the truth. I may have been born in Ireland, but the Gordons hail from Scotland.” She looked back at Hunt and squeezed his hand again. “I’ve waited so long for this,” she said softly. “You’re an answer to my prayers, Colin.”
“Not Colin,” he protested. “Hunt.”
“Hunt, then. I don’t care what you call yourself, little brother,” she replied.
Elizabeth dipped a cup of the broth Sweet Water had brought. “Would you like some soup?” she offered.
Hunt grimaced. “What I would like is to go out and relieve myself.”
With much fussing and draping of furs around him, they helped him out of the wigwam. Fox was nearby, and Sweet Water motioned him over. Both women returned to the shelter of the house while Fox took Hunt into the forest.
“I have so many questions to ask,” Sweet Water said as they warmed their hands at the fire. “Where has he been all these years? What has he done?”
“When he returns, I’ll leave you alone,” Elizabeth offered. “I know you have much to talk about.” She was still worried about Hunt’s recovery. His wounds were healing without infection, but he’d lost weight and his face showed the strain of his injuries.
Sweet Water touched Elizabeth’s wrist lightly. “What are you to my brother?”
Elizabeth felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. “My father paid him to bring me back to Charles Town,” she replied stiffly. “He’s been a good friend.”
“More than a friend.”
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened, and she busied herself with adding wood to the fire. “We were ...” She stammered, trying to find the words to keep from making herself look like a fool before this beautiful, composed woman. “Hunt didn’t want to rescue my son. I tried to persuade him in the only way I had.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’ll go to the children,” she said in a burst of words. “Make sure Hunt doesn’t tire himself. He’s still very weak.” Throwing a fur cloak over her shoulders, she moved toward the entrance.
“I have children, Elizabeth,” Sweet Water said. “Colin—Hunt was like a son to me. Nothing you could do to save your children would make you less in my eyes.”
“Nothing?” Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. “If you ask me if I used your brother, I did. But you needn’t worry that I will expect more. My father is ...” The words choked in her throat. Sweet Water had been kind to her, and Elizabeth didn’t want that friendship to turn to pity. In desperation, she tried to salvage a vestige of pride. “My father is a wealthy man. He will provide for me when I get home. No doubt, he’ll arrange a suitable marriage.” Gooseflesh broke out on her arms as she thought of the empty existence that stretched before her without Hunt.
“And my brother?” Sweet Water’s blue eyes shone with concern. “What of him?”
“Hunt will be well paid for his trouble,” Elizabeth answered. The cold dismissal of those words burned in the pit of Elizabeth’s belly as she hurried through the cold wind toward Sweet Water’s wigwam.
Hunt’s sister knew that Elizabeth had been a slave to a Seneca—that she had put her own life before honor. And Sweet Water also had guessed that Elizabeth had shared Hunt’s blanket. What must she think of the woman who’d put her own selfish needs before anyone else’s safety?
Shame washed over Elizabeth. She’d lied to her friend, not precisely, perhaps, but in intent. She’d made it seem as if she’d bribed Hunt with her body, and that she thought she was above his class.
While it was certainly true that her father was a titled gentleman and that he would use his wealth to find her a husband, she believed she would find little joy in the arrangement. Charles Town girls who brought dishonor on their families were often married off to planters in the Caribbean. She might make a proper marriage, but the man would be one of her father’s choosing.
The stain of her capture and enslavement by Indians would always remain with her. Ladies would watch her from behind their fans and whisper gossip about her past. She imagined herself and her children an unwelcome necessity in some isolated island manor house—the ugly bride of a man who had agreed to give her his name in exchange for the dowry she brought him.
Hunt and Fox came out of the trees. Hunt called to her, but she kept walking.
“Elizabeth,” Hunt repeated.
“Time enough for chasing her,” Fox said. “You belong in your bed.”
Hunt nodded. Even the short distance he’d walked had drained his strength. With Fox’s help, he entered the wigwam and made his way to his sleeping platform. Dizzy and trembling with exhaustion, he sat down. “What are you doing?” he demanded as his sister began to untie the laces of his moccasins.
“Hush. Lie down, I can do this.” She tugged off the first moccasin. “What’s this sticky stuff on your feet?”
“Stop fussing over me,” Hunt grumbled. “Rachel stuffed her unwanted dinner in my moccasins.”
“Wonderful,” Sweet Water said. She pulled a blanket up to his waist and examined the bandage on his arm. “Lie still, you’ve started this bleeding again.” “It’s all right.”
“You aren’t recovered yet,” she said, laying a hand on his forehead. “I think you may have a fever.”
“I don’t have a fever. It’s hot in here,” he protested.
Fox chuckled. “She is a bossy woman.”
“She’s always been bossy,” Hunt agreed.
“This is my brother, once known as Colin Gordon,” Sweet Water explained to the Shawnee brave.
Fox exhaled softly. “The boy we—”
“Captured at Simon Brandt’s cabin,” Sweet Water finished. “Fox was with the raiding party that day,” she said to Hunt. She glanced back at the brave. “I can’t wait to tell Talon.”
“Hiiye,” Fox murmured. “But it will not be so much a surprise as you think. Talon told me that this man might be your long lost brother.”
“He told you?” Sweet Water cried. “And he said nothing to me?”
Fox chuckled. “You know Talon. He is a cautious man. If Hunter died in Seneca hunting ground, he would be dead—would he not? If he lived, there would be time to ask questions once we returned.”
“And you kept it from me—both of you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Out of this house, Fox. Go and tell my husband that he was right. And also tell him that he’d best find his supper at your wigwam tonight, for there will be none for him in his own house.”
After Fox left, Sweet Water turned back to Hunt. “Do you want that soup now?”
“A little.” In truth, Hunt was weary enough to sleep without eating. His legs had barely held him, and the walk to the woods had brought sweat beading on his forehead in spite of the wind and low temperature.
“Prop your head up a little,” she ordered, lifting a spoonful of the venison soup to his lips.
“I can feed myself.”
“Shh,” she soothed. “Open your mouth.” When he did, she popped the spoon between his lips.
“Now, little brother, where have you been? And what does this woman really mean to you?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Stick a spoon in my mouth and then expect me to answer difficult questions. All women are alike.”
She wiped away a dribble of broth. “You were always trouble, Colin, always.”
“Hunt.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, but this will take some getting used to.”
“I agree. I’ve always thought of you as Becca.”
“Maybe she and Colin belong together in the past.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, then changed the subject. “You picked a good man for a second husband.”
She smiled. “He picked me.”
“Talon’s one of the bravest men I’ve ever known,” Hunt said between mouthfuls.
“And the kindest. Oh, you’re an uncle,” she cried. “You have a nephew, eleven. My Falcon is already a good hunter. And Star Girl is—”
“Rachel’s friend,” he supplied. “I’ve heard that much.”
“I can’t believe Talon didn’t tell me that he suspected who you were,” she said. “I was in the same village with you and never noticed you. I was angry that you were taking my husband to war. I avoided you.” She looked down at him. “I’ll kill Talon for not saying anything.”
“Does it matter?” he asked her.
“No, not now.” She cupped his hand between hers. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in and out of this house? I helped to tend your wounds, but I never guessed who you were.”
“What of Simon Brandt?”
Her mood became pensive. “Long dead.”
Hunt was shocked at the relief he felt. His sister’s first husband had given him little but rough blows and hard words.
“An evil man and best forgotten,” she whispered.
Hunt’s eyelids felt heavy. The heat of the soup pooled in his belly, and Becca’s voice lulled him into a peace he’d not known for a long time.
“What is Elizabeth Fleming to you?” his sister asked.
He didn’t answer.
“She says her father’s a wealthy man.”
He was so tired that it was easier to pretend sleep.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this can last,” Becca said. “She needed you to get her children. Now that she has them, she’ll return to who she is.”
Elizabeth’s image formed in the recesses of his mind. He reached for her and she eluded him in the mist.
“She’s different than we are,” Becca said. “A woman of her class could never accept living among the people as I have. She would not be happy married to a woodsman. She’s been accustomed to satin dresses and velvet slippers in her father’s house. She told me that he will arrange a suitable marriage for her ... with a rich plantation owner, no doubt.”
“She’s lived among the Seneca.”
“As a captive—a slave. Given the choice, she will gladly return to her position as an English gentlewoman. I am happy as Talon’s wife, but I lived on the frontier for many years before I knew him. Elizabeth was born to quality. She isn’t like me, little brother. You and I have always known adversity. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of her when she’s just been rescued from slavery and hasn’t had the time to think about what she wants of life.”
“I think I ...” The word love formed but he couldn’t say it. His feelings were too raw to share with the sister he hadn’t seen in so many years. And what if Becca was right? What if Elizabeth would be better off among her own kind?
“You care for her,” Becca said softly.
“Yes,” he admitted. His sister had spoken of fears that had troubled him ever since he’d begun to realize how much Elizabeth meant to him. He wanted Elizabeth, but not if it ruined her life and caused her unhappiness.
Becca sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You must let her go, little brother. You’ll only hurt yourself—and her—by trying to change what must be.”
“Elizabeth.” His lips formed her name, but he was already drifting into a deep sleep.
“There’s no place for you in her rich Charles Town future,” Sweet Water said, “and no place for two half-Indian children.”
To Elizabeth’s delight, Hunt’s recovery was swift and uneventful. In a week, he was regularly walking to the men’s lodge to join Fire Talon, Counts His Scalps, and the other men in smoking, gossiping, and discussing politics. In two weeks, he was cleaning his rifle and talking about joining a hunting party.
Rachel had accepted him as a natural part of the household. Jamie was still reserved, but Elizabeth noticed that the boy was never far from Hunt, and he listened intently to Hunt’s every word.
For herself, she could not help but wish the winter would hold them here in the Shawnee town forever. She and Hunt had not resumed their lovemaking, and she wanted to—terribly. But even more, she wanted to go on waking up every morning and seeing his sleepy face. She wanted to cook for him and stitch his moccasins ... to see her small daughter tucked into the crook of Hunt’s arm as he told her a story. She wanted to grow old with him and watch the sunsets together when his black hair had turned to silver.
Elizabeth and Hunt spoke only once of spring. Once was enough. He told her that when the weather broke and it was safe to travel with the children, he’d take her back to Charles Town.
“I don’t want to go,” she answered, deliberately keeping her tone even.
“I promised your father. I took his money, Elizabeth. It’s only fair I bring his daughter home.”
“He won’t want us,” she argued. “He won’t want Jamie and Rachel, and he won’t want me once he sees that I’m not the child he lost.”
Hunt sighed heavily and looked into her eyes. “It’s a thing to think of, what you will say about the children. My sister and her husband have asked to care for them.”
Anger drove all thought of calm from her mind. Did he think she’d come this far to surrender now? “I won’t give up Jamie and Rachel!”
“I told my sister you’d say that, but you’d best think about it. They’d be happier with the Shawnee.”
“No! That’s preposterous,” she flung back. “I won’t listen to such—”
“Listen to me,” he insisted. “Just listen, and think about what I’m saying. Talon is convinced war is coming between England and the colonies. Charles Town’s on the coast. Whatever happens, they’ll be in the thick of it.”
“Oh, it’s all right to send me back into a war, just not—”
“You aren’t listening,” he said, taking her arms and holding her so that she faced him squarely. “No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“Liar.” It was so unfair. When he touched her, it was almost impossible to keep from trembling—to keep her heart from racing. “You’re forcing me to go back to my father,” she reminded him.
“That’s different.” His face twisted, and she read the pain in his eyes. “I gave my word, Elizabeth. If a man’s word is worthless, what does it say about him?”
“You and your damn honor!” What about my honor? she cried silently. “I wouldn’t leave my children with the Seneca. Not with their own father. Why should I leave them here with strangers?” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Couldn’t he see? Didn’t he know what she really wanted?
“Sweet Water loves them. And Talon would be a good father. He’d teach Jamie what he must know to survive. Jamie’s half Seneca; he’ll never make a proper white man. I didn’t, and I was born white. Here, with the Shawnee, they’d be someone. Back on the coast ... you know what people will call them. Half-breed. Red-skinned savages.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. “I’ll protect them,” she argued. “No one will call them redskins twice, I can promise you that.”
“You’ll not be able to stop the filthy names. Becca loved me, but her own husband called me a bastard.” He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Just think on it,” he suggested. “Talon’s planning on moving his tribe west and north to the big lakes. He has friends among the Menominee. That’s too far west for the war. Jamie and Rachel can grow up there in peace.”
“I won’t give them up,” she insisted. Her heart was beating so hard that he must feel it. How could he hold her like this and not know how she loved him? “Not for your sister,” she managed, “not for anyone.”
“What about for their own good?” he asked huskily.
“They belong with me, and they’ll stay with me.”
“Becca ... Sweet Water said you’d say that. She also said that if you ever change your mind, her offer stands.”
“That’s good of her. I’m grateful that she cares enough to ask for them,” she told him.
She was grateful, at least she thought she was. But the friendship between her and Sweet Water wasn’t the same as it had been before they’d known that Hunt was Sweet Water’s brother. The Indian woman’s first loyalty lay with Hunt, not Elizabeth, and what woman would want a soiled wife for her brother? The children still played together and slept in each other’s wigwams, but some of the warmth had gone out of her relationship with Sweet Water.
Elizabeth still wanted Hunt, and she sensed that his sister opposed their being together. Hunt hadn’t said anything more about returning to his mountains on the far side of the great prairie, but he didn’t have to. She knew he intended to go, and she realized that there was no place in his future for an ugly woman with two small children.
Which left her with nothing but the few months until springtime....
She meant to make the most of that time, and no false pride would keep her from taking whatever scraps of love she could get from Hunt. She knew he blamed her for not telling him that she had two children, not one. She also knew that he still desired her body—the heat of his gaze told her so. Her only problem was to decide how to bridge the chasm between them.
She wanted to share his bed and his kisses. She wanted to sleep in the safety of his powerful arms and feel again the passion only he could ignite. And if she could pretend for a little while that she belonged to him, it would give her something to dream on for the rest of her life.