Defiant (10 page)

“You must have been terrified.” She tied off the thread with a knot, her lashes dark against her cheeks as
she looked down at her hands.

“My heart was beatin’ fast, so it was. But after a time, you learn to conquer your fear and take action instead.”

“You are most courageous, sir.” She met his gaze through haunted blue eyes, then her brow bent in a frown and her gaze dropped to her hands once more. “I have discovered that I am not nearly so brave as—”

“Shhh.” Connor nudged a finger beneath her chin, lifted her gaze to his. “I watched when they brought you into the village. I saw how afraid you were. But you held your head high and stood up to forty warriors with war clubs. I’ve seen grown men weep when facing the gauntlet. Dinnae be tellin’ me you lack courage, for I willna hear it.”

Sarah looked into Major MacKinnon’s eyes and felt her breath catch. His irises were the darkest shade of blue she’d ever seen, his brows dark slashes against sun-browned skin, his jaw rough with stubble, his full lips and long eyelashes softening his otherwise hard, masculine countenance. There was a slender scar on one cheek, adding an air of danger to his appearance. She looked away, her gaze falling on his broad chest with its flat, dark nipples and sprinkling of dark curls, then traveling inadvertently from the ridges of muscle on his belly to the line of dark curls that disappeared beneath his breeches.

She’d never been alone with a man before, nor had she seen a man in such a state of undress, the sight of him somehow…unsettling.

She looked down at her own hands, her cheeks burning. “I’ll go as quickly as I can, sir, and try my best not to hurt you.”

He hadn’t mentioned the wedding yet, and neither would she, not until she’d tended his wounds. It was possible Joseph had misunderstood or that Major MacKinnon had already put matters to rights. Regardless, her first duty was to aid him. Joseph had been right about that, his words of rebuke shaming her.

“Do what you must, my lady.” The major lifted the cloth, laying bare the wound.

The gash was about four inches long and sat just above his right hip bone. The edges were open, the cut deep and still oozing blood.

Hit by a wave of dizziness, she drew in a deep breath, refusing to succumb to such weakness. The major had braved death for her without hesitation. The least she could do was use her embroidery skill to repair this wound. But something of her distress and hesitation must have been apparent to the major, for in the next instant he cupped her cheek in his big hand, his fingers callused and warm.

“There’s naugh’ to fear, lass. I promise I willna cry out. If the sight of blood troubles you, I can fetch Joseph or try sewin’ it myself.”

The thought of Joseph finding a new reason to disapprove of her spurred her on. “There’s no need to trouble him. I’m…just a bit tired.”

She steeled her mind to the task, pinching the severed skin together as she might the seam of a garment. Then she began to sew.

The muscles of his abdomen tensed each time the needle pierced his skin, but apart from a single quick intake of breath, he did not cry out. “We followed the trail you left us. That was clever of you, my lady.”

She glanced up to find him watching her. “If you followed me, how did you come to be here first?”

“When the trail turned north, we kent they were bringin’ you here. We judged it best to come straight here along another path, thinkin’ to secure your freedom afore you reached the village. We didna want to provoke them into slayin’ you as they did the others.”

She worked swiftly, doing her best to keep the stitches neat
and even. “I’m glad you did not follow me all the way. They discovered what I was doing, and Katakwa sent men back to lie in wait for anyone who might have tracked us.”

“Is that when he struck you? I see that he has laid hands upon you.” He ran his thumb gently over her cheek, his brow bent in a frown.

Sarah nodded. “Also when he caught me singing. Sometimes I sing without meaning to. His sisters struck me, too, and they…They…”

“What did they do? Tell me.” There was an edge to his voice.

She shook her head, regretting that she’d said anything. How could she tell him about that? “I cannot…I cannot speak of it.”

For a moment, he was silent. “You need not fear them now. I willna suffer them to harm you. You’re under my protection, my lady.”

Finished, she tied the stitches off and cut the thread with his knife.

He looked down at his wound, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, his face a shade paler than it had been. Then he pulled a shirt of green-checked homespun out of his bundle of gear and drew it over his head. “You’ve some skill wi’ a needle. Those are the neatest stitches I’ve e’re seen. My thanks, lass.”

“You are most kind, sir.” She bent down and washed her hands in a bowl of water already stained by his blood.

Now was the time. She needed to ask him. She needed to ask him while they were together and alone. She stood and faced him, drying her hands on the hem of the shirt he’d let her borrow.

But before she could gather her resolve, he spoke. “When did you last eat, lass?”

She had to think. “This morning when we awoke.”

“That must have been afore dawn. You must be famished.” He crossed the lodge, pushed aside the mats that served as a door, and called out something in the Indian tongue before returning to her side. “I’ve asked them to bring you a warm meal. While we wait, sit with me and tell me what happened. I wish to hear it all.”

The request took Sarah by surprise. “Why?”

His answer astonished her even more than the original question. “’Tis a terrible ordeal you’ve endured, my lady. I thought you might want to unburden your heart by speakin’ of it to someone.”

Only one other person had ever asked her to share the troubles of her heart.

Margaret.

A hard lump in her throat, Sarah sat beside him, the shrieks of the attacking Indians, the sharp report of musket fire, and the screams of the dying echoing afresh through her mind. She could feel Katakwa’s grip as he first took her arm, smell the acrid scent of gunpowder, feel smoke burn her eyes.

Had that been only yesterday?

Saying nothing of the scandal that had gotten her exiled to New York, Sarah told the major what had happened, the horror of the attack and forced flight through the forest coming back to her as she spoke, making her tremble, her vision blurring with tears when she told him of Jane, young Thomas, and their courage.

“I sat by the fire while the Indians stitched their scalps onto hoops, afraid to give in to my tears, certain the Indians would slay me, too, if I made a sound.”

She felt something touch her shoulders—a woolen blanket. She drew it tightly around herself, grateful once again for the major’s thoughtfulness.

“We found their bodies—your Jane and the boy. They lay by the creek where last you saw them. I am sorry, my lady.” Major MacKinnon’s voice was deep, his warm Scottish burr soothing. “If it brings you comfort, they were no’ made to suffer torment ere they died.”

Sarah was grateful at least for that. “Why were they slain? Why was I spared?”

Until she’d said the words aloud, she had not realized how desperately she needed to know the answer.

“Dinnae blame yourself, my lady. There was naugh’ you could have done to stop this. Katakwa wanted a wife, and he chose you. The two who took Jane and Thomas told Joseph they’d meant to adopt them, but slew them instead because they were pursued by soldiers and couldna move fast enough wi’ three captives.”

This made no sense to Sarah. How could they want to adopt Jane and Thomas one moment, then kill them both the next? “That is cruel! Why couldn’t they have simply left them alive for the soldiers to find?”

“I dinnae ken, my lady.” A look of weariness came over the major’s face. “Much innocent blood has been spilled in this
war—Jane, Thomas, Katakwa’s wife, and countless more. One day I fear we shall have to answer to God for this slaughter—I more than most.”

And Sarah wondered what he meant by that, but then the major looked toward the door. He seemed to be listening to voices from outside the lodge.

When his gaze met hers again, he spoke rapidly. “I dinnae ken how much longer we shall be alone together, and there is much for us to discuss.”

Quickly he explained what Joseph had already told her—that the only way he’d been able to stop the chief from giving her to Katakwa was to fight Katakwa for the right to take her to wife himself.

“Upon my honor, my lady, I sought only to free you. If I’d no’ spoken at that moment, Katakwa would have claimed you, and there would have been naugh’ that Joseph and I could have done to stop him—or to bring you home again.”

“Joseph told me that we…that you and I must…”

“That we must lie together tonight? Och, he’s as gabbie as an old alewife!” The major shook his head, muttered a string of oaths, then met her gaze. “In truth, lass, I dinnae ken what will happen. I didna wish to tell you of it until I was certain, but, aye, the old hen says that my claim upon you willna be complete until we have coupled. I thought to appease her by seemin’ to lie together, but the Shawnee have a custom by which a midwife stays wi’ the man and his wife through the night to be certain…”

Whatever the major was saying, Sarah could no longer hear him over the pounding of her own heartbeat. It was too much—the attack, Jane and Thomas’s deaths, the gauntlet, what Katakwa’s sisters had done to her, the knife fight, and now this.

She stood, shaking her head. “No! No. This cannot be happening. It cannot. You must find a way out of this. My uncle would never permit me to be—”

In the next instant, Major MacKinnon was on his feet, his expression dark. “Your uncle is leagues from here,
Princess,
and even were he standin’ on this spot, he could do naugh’ to aid you. A brigadier general he might be, and a fine wee lairdie at that, but he’s no warrior. This is no’ a game of chess, my lady, but a battle of wits and will in which lives may yet be lost.”

Shocked by his abrupt change of manner and the way he spoke of Uncle William, she took an instinctive step backward.

He drew a deep breath, and some of the anger seemed to leave him. “Your supper will soon be here. Eat. Take some rest. I’ll see to it no one troubles you.”

A sense of despair pressed in on her. “Why are they doing this to me—to both of us?”

The major seemed to consider this. When he spoke, his voice was gentle once more. “Grannie Clear Water has lost face in the eyes of her people because I defeated her war chief. ’Tis a hard thing for a woman chief. She kens that no man may touch you wi’out your father’s consent, for I told her this during our parley today. She kens I fought only to free you, not to wed you. By forcing us to join, she bends us to her will and regains some of the standin’ she has lost.”

He started past her, then stopped beside her, turning his head to look down at her. “I ken you are frightened. So am I. I’ve ne’er committed rape upon a woman, and I’ve no desire to start wi’ you, lass. As God is my witness, I shall do all I can to spare us both.”

And then he was gone.

I
t was just after sunset when Connor made his way back toward the lodge where he’d left Lady Sarah. His hair was still damp, the shirt they’d taken off him bunched in his hand, the night air cold against his bare skin. A sense of anticipation filled the air around him, making his already dark mood darker.

A bonfire burned in the center of the village, casting long shadows. Children stood in the orange circle of firelight, making a game of tossing sticks into the blaze. Men sat in groups in front of the lodges, talking together in quiet voices, while women bustled about, tending smaller cook fires, venison roasting over the flames, ash cakes cooking in the embers. Every gaze turned his way as he passed, the men’s eyes filled with suspicion, the children’s with curiosity, the women’s with blatant interest. He ignored them all.

He found Joseph sitting outside the door to the lodge and spoke to him in English so that no one could understand. “How does she fare?”

“She sleeps still.” Joseph stood, his gaze traveling over Connor’s clean-shaven face and hairless chest, his lips curving in a grin. “What’s this? The Cub is not so furry.”

“That devil woman’s granddaughters waylaid me, took me to her lodge, insisting they had to prepare me for the ceremony.
They bathed and oiled me, shaved my face, then plucked every hair out of my chest and belly. God’s blood, it was torture!”

Connor’s skin still smarted.

Joseph chuckled. “You look good—just like a human being should look. Only animals have hairy faces and bodies.”

This was a familiar disagreeance, one they’d debated many times afore.

“Real men have hair on their chests,” Connor fired back. “You look like a lass wi’ smooth paps.”

But this only made Joseph laugh harder.

Connor’s temper snapped. “Dinnae be laughin’ at me. They went for my cods, so they did! I had to shove them away, else they’d have plucked me bare there, too. I willna submit my bollocks to such abuse.”

Joseph bit his lip, clearly trying to rein in his mirth. “So you prefer to make women search the bush to find the snake?”

“My
snake
is no’ so small that the lasses must search for it.” Connor was in no mood for foolishness. “Och, Joseph, for the love of God, stop your bloody jestin’! Did you discover anythin’ that might be of use to us?”

But before Joseph could answer, it struck Connor.

Was this how Katakwa’s sisters had hurt Lady Sarah? Had they done to her what Grannie Clear Water’s daughters had tried to do to him? Had they plucked the tender flesh of her quim bare?

The thought sent a bolt of lust to his groin, even as his skin shrank in sympathy. He was so distracted by the thought that it took a moment for him to realize that Joseph was speaking.

“I spent the afternoon alone with Turtle Eggs, a pretty woman who says she was Katakwa’s lover until he set his mind on stealing a wife. She says there are extra sentries posted tonight. If we are caught trying to flee, as they seem to hope we will be, you and I are to be burned at the stake and Sarah handed over to Katakwa to do with as he pleases.”