Chapter Five
Deborah rolled onto her side in the massive four-poster bed and tugged the light counterpane over her bare shoulders. The linen sheets felt so soft and smooth against her skin that she smiled sleepily.
She had always slept nude, something that shocked Lady Celia beyond words, but no matter what Deborah's step-mother said or did, Deborah refused to conform. Her numerous cotton and flannel sleeping gowns imported from London and Paris had remained in the trunk at the foot of the bed until she had secretly given them to her sister, Mary, as a wedding gift. It was Mary, only a year her senior who she had shared this room with before she'd been married off to her sea captain.
A soft breeze wafted through the open window, carrying on it the first hint of the approaching autumn. Sighing, Deborah plumped her goosetick pillow, her eyes drifting shut. Tomorrow a tea was being held by Thomas's sister in honor of her brother's betrothal to the Earl's daughter. Deborah had prayed desperately that she would come down with some illness or injury to prevent her from attending, but unfortunately she remained healthy. She knew the morning would dawn, and she'd be forced to stand at her betrothed's side accept congratulations, and listen to the titters of the young maidens not yet wed.
Deborah was uncertain how long she'd been asleep when she suddenly found herself awake. Her limbs were tense and dewy with perspiration, the hair on the back of her neck stiff. Something had startled her in her sleep and she didn't know what it was. Opening her eyes, she squinted in the darkness. It was a moonless night and the air hung heavy with an impending rainstorm. In the distance, she could hear the rumble of thunder as it rolled in off the bay.
"Is someone there?" Deborah threw off the counterpane and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The hand came from nowhere to clamp over her mouth, preventing even a single syllable from escaping her lips.
Deborah clawed at the hand with her blunt fingernails, struggling as another hand caught her bare arm and pushed her onto her back. Her hands touched the broad expanse of a bare chest and she ceased to struggle. It was him . . . her Indian.
Tshingee's heady masculine scent filled her head, sending odd tingling sensations down the length of her spine. He held her down by her bare upper arm—a place no man had ever touched without the material of a sleeve between.
Deborah blinked. "Tshingee?" she murmured beneath the pressure of his palm.
Tshingee slowly lowered his hand. "Silence!"
"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" Deborah was frightened, but the thought of something so utterly forbidden as a man in her bedchamber . . . this man . . . made her bold.
"I said silence, woman!" he repeated. Tshingee took a step back. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his breast. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all, he thought, wiping his mouth with the back his hand. He hadn't expected his Red Bird to be unclothed. The impact of her bare breasts brushing against his chest had been far greater than he could have imagined. His entire body was hot and pulsing with desire for this woman who could never be his.
Feeling Tshingee's dark eyes on her, Deborah suddenly realized what he was staring at. With a gasp, she yanked up the counterpane to cover a small portion of her nakedness. "You can't come in here like this," she whispered harshly. "The Earl will have you hanged!"
Tshingee crossed his arms over his chest. "He will have my brother hanged if I do not."
"What?" She scooted backward on the bed, out of his reach.
"You will come with me," he replied starkly.
"I think not!"
Tshingee caught her ankle and dragged her toward him. "Get dressed and keep silent or I will tie your mouth."
"I'm not getting dressed! I'm not going anywhere with you!" Suddenly the excitement of the redman's appearance had lost its attraction. This man was trying to kidnap her!
"I said get up and put on clothing!" He grasped her wrist and with one swift movement lifted her off the bed and to her feet.
Deborah stared at his solemn bronze face as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. "You can't do this to me! No man can."
Tshingee turned his face to keep his gaze from settling on her rounded breasts, her narrow waist, her long, lithe legs. The coverlet she held clutched in her hands was more an enticement than a deterrent. His voice caught in his throat, making it raspy. "I said, dress." He spotted a heap of wispy material on the floor and tossed it to her. "Put it on!"
"I will not! Now get out of here before I scream." She let the shift fall to the floor.
"You will not scream. You will do as I say so that no one is hurt."
Deborah took a step forward, her face only inches from his. "Are you threatening me?"
Tshingee caught her by the shoulders and spun her around. Before Deborah realized what was happening, he had scooped up the shift and was tying it around her mouth. In the process of struggling, she lost her grip on the counterpane and it fell to the floor. There was no longer a barrier between his bare flesh and hers.
Deborah's breath caught in her throat as her thigh brushed Tshingee's. The gag was tight against her mouth and cheeks; a whimper escaped her lips.
He stared through the darkness at Deborah's wide, startled eyes and for a moment his constitution wavered. She was frightened and he had caused this fear. Without thought he pulled her slim body against his chest his hands falling to caress her back and bare, shapely buttocks.
"Maata-wischasi, my Red Bird." he whispered. He pressed his lips to her forehead. She smelled of rain, and soft, sweet. grass. "I will not hurt you. I do this because your people give me no choice. John Wolf is a part of me. I cannot see him wronged."
Deborah trembled in Tshingee's arms. Her head spun in confusion. She was frightened of him and angry that he would do this to her. But within herself she felt a certain betrayal. His hot flesh felt so good pressed to hers. His voice carried on the night air like an ancient ballad of love.
"We must go," he told her, taking a step back. His thoughts came more clearly with the short distance between them. "Maata-wischasi. Do not fear. Do as I say and you will come to no harm. Do you understand?"
She nodded slowly.
"Kihalaalit." He removed a scroll of paper from the belt of his loincloth. "I leave this message to the Earl telling him who has taken you and why. When he returns my brother to me, I will return his daughter." He tossed it onto the bed. "I think it is an even exchange, don't you"
Unable to speak, Deborah glared at him.
"Come, we go."
Taking Deborah by the waist, he lifted her over his shoulder. She struggled, but only for a moment before she came to her senses. As Tshingee stepped out of the window, she quickly realized that the only thing she would accomplish by fighting him was a possible fall from the second story.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Deborah held her breath as Tshingee moved along the outer windowsill, only a brick's width wide. He held her flung over his shoulder and bent at the waist, her arms dangling down his back.
Tshingee pushed away from the wall and for a moment they were airborne before his bare feet touched the overhanging roof of the lean-to pantry off the winter kitchen. A moment later, he was shimmying down her father's prized ivy and then they were on the ground.
Tshingee set her down and her feet sank into the damp grass. "Are you all right?"
She glared at him. Of course I'm not all right. she wanted to shout. I'm being kidnapped stark naked by a crazy Indian. How could I possibly be all right?
"Good. Now listen, we will go through the woods and to the river. There we will take my dugout. The Migianac will protect us and put a great distance between us and the Earl by morning." He tugged on her arm. "Come along."
But Deborah refused to budge. She'd be damned if she was going to make things easy for him!
"You will not walk?" An angry, muffled protest from Deborah made him smile in the darkness. "That's all right," he told her, throwing her over his shoulder like a feed sack. "You are a worthy foe. If I were in your place . . . I would not walk either."
"What do you mean, she's gone, sir?" Thomas stared in disbelief at the Earl of Manchester standing at the front door of Deliverance. It was barely six in the morning.
"I mean she's gone," the Earl answered, his face red and puffy from the exertion of walking up the hill. "He's taken her from me, boy!"
"Who?" Thomas removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat and mopped his brow. "Where did who take her?"
"The Indian's bloody brother! I'm unable to pronounce his name. Are you going to ask me in or must I stand here like some poor relation?"
Thomas stepped back. "My apologies, please do come in, sir. Have you broken the fast?"
The Earl waved a thick, hairy hand, dropping into a chair in the entryway of the front hall. "Nothing for me, I couldn't possibly eat," he panted.
"W—what can we do? How are we going to get her back?"
"I'm organizing a search party. That's why I came—to see how many men you could bring with you. Thomas, I've been saying for years that we had to clean this shore of the vermin. First one of those redskins shoots and kills one of my men and now this." He hung his head.
"Why did he take her?" Thomas stared in utter shock.
"His brother, boy! Damned, but you're slow. He left a note. A redskin that knows his letters! He says he'll release my daughter, unharmed, when we release his brother. The savage is under the notion his brother's been falsely accused!"
Thomas took a chair across from the Earl and lowered his head to cradle it in his hands. "My poor Deborah," he groaned. Suddenly he looked up. "You don't think he'll kill her, do you?"
"No, but I can't promise we'll find her totally unscathed." He lifted his eyebrows, his tone suggesting her virtue was at risk.
Thomas gulped. "I want you to know, sir, that if she's alive . . . if she's alive and still has her wits about her, I'll still be willing to wed her."
"I was hoping you'd be man enough to say that." Lord Manchester pushed up out of the chair. "Well, there's no time to lose, son, if we're to catch up with them. Get yourself properly clothed. We'll probably have to go on foot part of the way." He went to the door.
Thomas nodded in agreement, still seated in the chair. He just couldn't believe this had happened. "Where are we to meet, sir?"
The northwest corner of Deliverance. The Mac-Clouds are meeting us there in an hour's time with whoever else they can round up. The whole county's going to want to be in on this."
Thomas wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. His hand shook with rage. All he could think was Deborah. He was not a violent man, but he wanted to murder Deborah's abductor.
"Well, get up, boy," the Earl chided. "Get ahold of yourself." He opened the door. "I'm depending on you, son."
Thomas stood. "Yes, sir. I'll be there. We'll find them and we'll hang the bastard on the spot!"
The Earl smiled with pleasure. "Precisely my thought, Mr. Hogarth."
Deborah lay on the soft ground, her hands tied behind her back and her cheek pressed into a pile of brittle fallen leaves. Tshingee lay on top of her, his sinewy body pressed against hers. All Deborah could think of was thank God he had allowed her to don her shift at daybreak. He had gagged her again, using a bit of material from the hem of the shift, but at least her nude body was partially shielded.
"Shhhh." Tshingee murmured in her ear. The sound of barking, snarling hounds grew closer with each passing minute.
"Let me go," Deborah murmured. Tshingee had loosened the gag so that she could speak, but her voice was muffled. "Please," she begged. The linen of the shift was dry in her mouth and an insect was biting her bare hip.
"We must be silent, Red Bird," he told her, his voice barely audible.
"I don't have to be silent!" she managed through the gag. "I want them to find me!"
Tshingee rolled her over in the soft humus, his dark, disturbing eyes boring into hers. He straddled her body, leaning forward until his breath was warm on her face. "If you cannot be silent, I will knock you in the head. It will not kill you but it will silence you long enough to get you out of here." He lifted a sooty eyebrow. "Do you want me to hit you, my Red Bird?"
Deborah's eyes narrowed as she strained beneath his solid form. Every part of his body seemed to be brushing against hers and his brief leather loincloth left nothing to her imagination. She had never met a man more hauntingly masculine. "No, I don't want you to clunk me in the head! I want you to let me go!"
A smile twitched across his face and he brushed her hair out of her eyes. This woman held no resemblance to the proper lady he had met on horseback only a short time ago. This morning, beneath the first rays of the new day, she appeared to be some captured woods spirit, wild and untamed with her unruly hair and bright, angry eyes.
Tshingee's smile vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared. Where is my head? he chastised himself. This was the enemy! This woman's father holds my brother unjustly! Tshingee rolled her roughly onto her side, tightening the gag. "I said silence!"
The sound of the baying hounds echoed high above the trees. Tshingee knew he was losing precious time. If the men caught him now, all would be lost. Lifting Deborah to her feet, he shoved her forward. "Buumska, hokkuaa!" he snapped.
Deborah stumbled, tripping over an exposed tree root. She fell to the ground and refused to get up.
"We must hurry," Tshingee insisted, lifting her to her feet. "They're nearly upon us!"
She set her jaw in determination. He had tightened the gag so that she could no longer speak, but she was certain he understood her. She'd be damned if she was going to walk a foot voluntarily!
Tshingee groaned, shaking his head. "Hokkuaa! This is why I have no woman of my own!" Hoisting Deborah into the air, he tossed her over his shoulder and began to run.
Deborah squeezed her eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to flow. She could hear the dogs in the distance and the occasional shout of a man. She knew it had to be a search party, so why couldn't they find her? They were so near! How could one man on foot carrying a woman elude a pack of dogs and a group of men on horseback!
Her Indian was clever, that was how. He traveled through the densest part of the forest, through thickets where no horse and rider could go.
The direction of the sounds changed, and Tshingee ran faster. He leaped over fallen saplings and tore through thickets of briar. His feet barely made a sound on the narrow deer path as he grew closer to the edge of the Migianac River.
Deborah groaned, wrapping her arms around Tshingee's waist to prevent swinging behind him like a broken pendulum. The Lenni Lenape brave changed direction, backtracking a short distance. He came to a halt and dumped her onto the ground.
"Get in!" he ordered harshly.
She blinked. He was pointing to a huge fallen log, hollowed through time by tree rot and tiny organisms. He wanted her to get inside the tree! When she balked, he pushed her onto her knees. She ducked in time to keep from bumping her head as he propelled her forward against her will.
Climbing into the dark, moist cave, Deborah lay on her side. Tshingee crawled in beside her and moved a tree limb and a vine of green briars to cover the entrance.
He rested his hand possessively on her hip. "Silence," he whispered. "We have almost reached my dugout, but they cannot see us go down the river."
Deborah squeezed her eyes shut as the sounds of man and dog drew closer. She tried to ignore the sensation of Tshingee's body so close to hers.
How can my flesh betray me like this! How, after all that has happened, can I still be attracted to this savage? she wondered.
The dogs and men were so close now that Deborah could make out the sound of her father's voice. The search party passed within a hundred feet of Tshingee's hiding place.
Damn you, Tshingee, Deborah thought as the sound of hoofbeats and hounds began to die away. Why did the Indian have to be so intelligent? Wrapped up in the heady smell of humus like this, the dogs had not caught the scent of human flesh.
For several more minutes Tshingee and Deborah lay in silence, then he backed out of the log and pulled her out behind him. "Not much further," he assured her. This time, he slung her over his shoulder without attempting to make her walk.
A quarter of a mile through the woods, they reached the bank of the Migianac River and Tshingee set her lightly on the ground. She watched with great surprise as, out of no where, he produced a small boat from the river's bank. It was a hollowed out log, no more than seven feet long. "Get in," Tshingee ordered.
Realizing that if she didn't get in herself, he would put her in, Deborah did as she was told. She didn't want Tshingee touching her—it was too confusing. Her mind told her he was the enemy; he had told her he was the enemy. But she didn't feel like he was.
The dugout rocked as she stepped into it, but Tshingee held it steady. He pointed for her to be seated in the bow. Then, he waded chest-deep into the river and leaped in. Resting on his knees, he lifted a single wooden paddle and began to propel the small boat rapidly through the water.
Deborah was surprised at how easily the crude thing moved, parting the water in near silence.
"If you give your word you will be silent, when we are further downriver, I will take the cloth from your mouth," Tshingee told her in his soft, singsong voice.
Deborah glared venomously at him and he stifled the urge to smile. She was so beautiful kneeling in front of him with the breeze off the water blowing her magical hair. He shrugged, looking away. "It matters not to me, Red Bird. My village is many days from here, but I prefer the silence to a woman's chattering anyway."