Chapter Ten
"What's going on?" Mackenzie burst into the dining hall that also served as Major Albertson's office. "They closed the gates! I had to call up to get someone to let me in." She pushed back a lock of hair. In a hurry to appear presentable, she'd pulled her tangled hair back with a ribbon and stuck her straw bonnet on top of her head. "Well, Harry?"
He was very pale, his skin like milk glass, his lips drawn in a thin line. He stared at something on the table, so preoccupied that he didn't appear to have heard her.
There were others in the room—her father and Joshua, Lieutenant Burrow, Mary's John, and a few she didn't know by name. There was also a very young soldier in a tattered, bloody uniform. He appeared as if he'd been fighting. They all stared at the object on the dining table that was covered with a stained Indian blanket.
Mackenzie studied the men in the room, then the bundle, then the men again. They were all pale. They acted as if they'd all just swallowed a crumb of spoiled meat and were about to be ill.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She could taste the metallic edge of fear in the air. Now she was afraid. "Papa?"
Franklin pointed to the door. "Joshua, take Mackenzie to her quarters. Now."
Joshua walked toward her, making a great effort to avoid the dining table.
Mackenzie stared at the blanket. It was stained with something dark. Blood?
"Papa, what is it?" When her father didn't answer her immediately, she turned to the major. "Harry? Please." She glanced back at bundle on the table. She couldn't take her eyes off it. "Papa? Someone, please tell me what's happened."
"Joshua!" Franklin snapped. "I said get her the hell out of here!"
Mackenzie had never seen her father so rattled. Sweat beaded on his balding head and his hand trembled as he motioned to Josh.
She pushed Joshua away as he grasped her arm. "I'm not leaving until someone tells me what the bloody hell is going on." She stepped toward the table. "And what pray tell is that?"
"Don't, Mackenzie." Her father spoke so softly that she stopped in mid-stride.
"Don't," echoed Harry.
"No," said another.
Mackenzie stared at the thing on the table. It was blood on the blanket. She saw it now. Perhaps she just imagined it, but she thought she could smell the sweet, sticky smell of it. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. There was the stench of something rancid in the air.
"Papa, please. I—"
The door swung open behind her. The solders saw who it was before she did and lifted their swords and muskets.
It was Fire Dancer, and she was glad to see him. Surely he would tell her what was happening.
"Where the futtering hell have you been?" Major Albertson's voice boomed as he crossed the plank floor.
Mackenzie didn't know what to do. Only she knew where he'd been. Only she knew what they had almost done. She felt no shame, or guilt, only apprehension for the man she feared she loved.
Fire Dancer's gaze met hers and she read his warning. Do not speak of what passed between us , his black eyes told her. Or we will both suffer the consequences .
She didn't speak. Instead, she leaped into action and stepped between her Shawnee brave and the major. "Just wait one minute. I was here first and I want to know what's going on. What in heaven's name is that on the table?"
Harry stared at Fire Dancer with a hatred that surprised her. "Ask the Indian why he'll not say where he's been."
Mackenzie turned sideways so that she could see both men. "Fire Dancer?" she said softly.
Fire Dancer stared at the Indian blanket on the table. When he moved toward it, the soldiers all tightened their grips on their weapons.
They were afraid of him. Why?
"Mackenzie!" Harry reached out to shield her eyes as Fire Dancer yanked the Indian blanket off the thing on the table.
Too late.
For a moment Mackenzie thought she would retch. Tears filled her eyes and she swallowed against the acidic bile that rose in her throat.
A head.
A decapitated head.
The fair-haired, blond-mustached thing was ghostly white and covered with bloody gore. She didn't recognize the face, but she feared she knew who it was.
She turned her back to it. She refused to swoon. This wasn't the time or the place to be a weak female.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Harry said, a gentleness in his voice.
For a second it seemed as if it was only the two of them in the room. Everything else was swirling around her. "DuBois?" She whispered, not trusting her voice yet.
"Aye." Harry sounded tired and old beyond his forty-odd years. "And I want to know why the hell this happened!" he shouted at Fire Dancer.
Mackenzie turned back, her aversion to the head not as strong as her desire to follow what was happening, and how Fire Dancer was involved. Obviously Harry thought her brave knew something.
Fire Dancer carefully covered the head with the blanket and made some kind of sign with his hand, whispering something in Shawnee. "The body must be found for proper burial."
In the midst of the horror, Mackenzie was touched by his respect for the dead.
"Did you hear me, redskin?" Harry confronted Fire Dancer. "I want to know how the hell this happened and what you had to do with it."
"You do not think I would do this, Major Albertson, man I call friend?" Fire Dancer's voice was strong and confident.
"What the Christ am I supposed to think?" Harry spat. "They were massacred. All of them. All of them, but that poor boy who had to witness it, and then carry the head. You know why he had to do it? Because if he didn't they said they'd find him and torture him to death."
Fire Dancer gazed at the young soldier in the bloody coat. He looked back at DuBois's head. "The blanket is Huron."
"It's Indian. That's what I know! You were gone all day. That's what I know. You had something to do with this outrage. That's what I know." Harry wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. "Seize him!"
Five or six of the officers vaulted to do their major's bidding. Fire Dancer dove for the door, but there were too many soldiers and they were on him in an instant. They hit him over the head with their musket butts and yanked his head by his hair. Fire Dancer fell to his knees under the attack.
"Wait! Wait!" Mackenzie screamed. She tried to reach Fire Dancer, but Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her back roughly.
"He didn't have anything to do with DuBois!" she shouted. She shoved Harry right back. "He couldn't have. He was with me."
"She's lying!" Burrows grabbed Fire Dancer's arms and jerked them behind him. He tied them together with leather straps.
Harry held her arms down at her sides so tightly that it hurt. "Stay out of this Mackenzie." He spoke through gritted teeth. "You'll not have your way on this one."
She struggled to escape Harry's iron grip. "You've got to listen to me. Where is that reason you pride yourself upon, Harry? He was with me. I swear it. Down by the stream. I can take you there and show you—"
"Franklin. Get your daughter out of here. The heat's gotten to her head. Get her out before she says something she'll regret."
"Let's go." Franklin grabbed both of her arms, his strength surprising. He had never been so rough with her.
Hot tears ran down Mackenzie's cheeks. A few hours ago she had been so happy. Life had been so perfect. "Please, Father. Listen to me."
"You can't defend the Indian at the sake of your reputation," Franklin snapped. He pushed her toward the door. "You can't lie for him."
"I'm not." She fought the sob that rose in her throat. She didn't know what had happened to DuBois or who had attacked his party, but she knew Fire Dancer had nothing to do with it. "Please listen to me. Harry's making a mistake. Fire Dancer wouldn't do that. He wouldn't murder a man in cold blood."
"Mackenzie!" Franklin shook her. "Shut your mouth."
When she refused to walk, her father half-carried her, half-dragged her out of the dining room. The last glance she caught of Fire Dancer was that of him on his knees, his head bowed. Blood gushed from a gash on his temple.
"Fire Dancer!" she cried. "I won't let them do this to you! I swear I won't."
"Go, Mack-en-zie," he called to her. "Do what your father wishes."
"Shut up!" Burrow kicked Fire Dancer in the stomach.
Mackenzie screamed.
"K daholel," she heard Fire Dancer say as her father dragged her from the room. "K daholel , Mack-en-zie."
"You can't do this to me, Papa!" Mackenzie stumbled as he pushed her into her room.
"Have you lost your mind?" her father ranted. His face was bright red. "Declaring such a thing in public! Do you want to ruin me as well as yourself? What man do you think would have you if he knew you had been alone with that savage? Even for a few moments?"
Tears ran down Mackenzie's face. She pushed herself off the plank floor with her palms. She was so afraid, so confused. "I don't want any other man," she whispered. "Only him."
"Tomorrow we leave this place." Franklin brushed back the thinning hair that fell forward over his forehead. He acted as if he had never heard her shocking declaration. "You've been here too long. I knew it wasn't a good idea. The sun and the isolation have touched your head."
"There's nothing wrong with my head, Father! I'm not lying to cover for him. We really were together. All afternoon. For hours."
"I don't want to hear it!" He threw up his hands and backed out of the room. "Tomorrow we leave this place. Tonight you stay here. I'm sorry, Mackenzie, but I'll have to bar the door from outside."
"Father!"
"It's the only way I can protect you. Josh will stand guard. If you need anything, he'll get it for you."
Mackenzie attempted to grab the knob, but her father slammed the door shut before she could reach it. "No!" she screamed furiously as she heard a loud thump hit the door. When she tried to open it, the knob turned, but the door wouldn't open. He'd blocked it with something.
"Father!" she screamed as she pounded on the door with her fists. "You can't do this to me! I can't believe you would do this!"
There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment and then she heard her father's voice again. He sounded as if he were crying. "I'm sorry, Mackenzie," he whispered. "I only do this because I . . . I . . ." Then she heard nothing but his footsteps as he walked away.
Mackenzie fought another sob of frustration, as she pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor in a flood of tears. She brought her hands to her face and she shook in fury. She had to stop Harry and the soldiers. She'd been at the fort long enough to know how the English dealt with the Indians. There would be no trial. They would hang him. And she wouldn't let that happen to Fire Dancer. She couldn't. She couldn't because she loved him. She knew that now.
Fire Dancer struggled toward consciousness. It was difficult, as if he was swimming through mud. All around him he felt an oppressive darkness. His head pounded so hard that his eyeballs ached. He could smell his own blood.
His thoughts drifted. He was probably going to die. He knew that. The soldiers would not seek out the Hurons who murdered their French major. The British army was terrified. He could see it in their eyes. He felt it in their arms and legs as they struck and kicked him.
They needed someone to blame for the murders of the Frenchmen . . . anyone. It was poor luck for Fire Dancer, nothing more nothing less. He was the best choice. He was the most likely culprit in their clouded eyes.
A man never knew when his time to die would come, so he had to always be prepared. Fire Dancer felt his head roll as he fought to hold it upright. He was ready to die. At least he had been a few days ago, a few weeks ago . . . Now there was something that nagged at his resolve. Someone.
Mack-en-zie .
He wasn't ready to die because of Mackenzie. All along he had told himself that he would enjoy her company while he remained at the fort. When his duty to his people was done here, he would return home to them and leave the red-haired woman behind. But something had changed. When had it happened? His mind churned as he fought to recall the details.
When they had talked of making love this afternoon and agreed it was not right, he had still intended to return to the village alone. Now as he stood here, tied to a pole, he could think of nothing but her. When her gaze had met his in the English dining room, they had shone with a bright light. A light meant only for him. It was the light of love that he knew a man saw only once in his lifetime . . . if he was lucky.
That changed everything. It did not matter that he was Shawnee and she was colonial manake . It did not matter that his mother expected him to take Laughing Woman as his wife. What mattered was Mackenzie. How the great Tapalamawatah would resolve this, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was not his time to join with his ancestors in the heavens.
Fire Dancer attempted to open his eyes. He felt dizzy and light-headed. His entire body ached. He would have slumped forward, but the leather bindings that bit into his wrists and calves prevented it.
Mackenzie . He could not die and leave her. He would not. He had told her he loved her. He had called out the words in his native tongue. He remembered now. Then the soldiers had beat him . . . beat him until he succumbed to the pain and lost consciousness.
"Mack-en-zie . . ." He whispered her name on his split, blood-caked lips. "K dolholel , Mack-en-zie. This man loves you." Speaking the words aloud made him stronger.
He managed to open one eye. Then the other. It was dark and he was inside a small, enclosed building. It smelled of odd smells—sugar, tobacco, whiskey. Where was he?
Fire Dancer tried to clear his head, forcing himself to concentrate. He had to see Mackenzie. He had to ask her if it really was love that he had seen in her blue eyes. But first he had to escape.
Fire Dancer focused on his surroundings, and realized he was inside one of the small dependencies built in the fort yard, one used for storage. He breathed deeply, trying to think. He had to be inside the lean-to Mackenzie's father stored his goods in. It had a lock.
The soldiers had tied him to this support beam and locked him in for good measure. Was there a guard? His first impulse was to call out. If there was a guard, surely he would answer, either by shouting back or perhaps coming inside to club him again.
No. It would be better if the English didn't know he had regained consciousness. It was better if they did not anticipate his escape.
Fire Dancer tried to move his hands that were tied behind his back. The bindings were so tight that his fingers tingled. He pressed his spine against the rough, wooden pole and tried to move his feet.
Lieutenant Burrow had done an excellent job of tying up his prisoner. Fire Dancer blinked; the blood in his eyes stung. An excellent job . Of course, the lieutenant was an Indian hater. After the incident with Tall Moccasin he had made it plain to Fire Dancer that they were enemies.
So now what? Fire Dancer thought. Okonsa? His cousin would set him free out of family duty. He would probably like nothing more than the excuse to kill a few white men. But Okonsa wasn't expected back until tomorrow. Tomorrow might be too late.
Fire Dancer closed his eyes. What did he do now? Pray? It was the answer his mother said always worked. He sighed. "So I give myself up to you, Great Father."
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he heard a noise behind him. A noise like wood scraping against wood.
"Father?" Had the great spirit come for him?
"Hssst," came a voice. "It is not the Great Father, but a small man."
Fire Dancer grinned and then winced. His lips were so cracked and bruised that it hurt to smile. "Tall Moccasin, nephew of my heart?" he called softly in Algonquian. It was too good to be believed. Was he hallucinating?
The wood scraped again, and as if by a holy man's magic, the boy appeared before Fire Dancer. "Hsst, Uncle. We must hurry. There is an English guard, but he has gone to take a piss." Tall Moccasin spoke half in English, half in Shawnee.
Fire Dancer sighed in relief as the boy cut the bindings at his wrists. He still felt woozy, as if he wasn't quite in control of his mind or body. "How did you get in?"
Tall Moccasin knelt and cut the leather at Fire Dancer's ankles. "Through the door in the wall my Uncle Okonsa cut so that he could steal the white man's supplies."
The thought that Okonsa was stealing, even from the white men, concerned Fire Dancer, but this was neither the time nor the place to consider it. "You are a most clever young man." Fire Dancer tousled the boy's hair. Then he gripped the pole as he swayed slightly.
Tall Moccasin slipped his knife into his sheath and reached up to grab Fire Dancer by his arm. "Are you all right, Uncle? Should I bring another man over the fort wall to help you?"
"No." Fire Dancer pushed back his hair on his blood-caked forehead. "You did the right thing to come alone. Now show this man how you slipped in under the noses of the British."
Tall Moccasin led Fire Dancer to the rear of the lean-to. Moonlight shone in through a square hole at the bottom of the log wall, just the right size for a man to pass though.
"You see. Easy enough." Tall Moccasin dropped on all fours and crawled through the hole.
Fire Dancer followed. Once outside, with the night breeze on his face, he felt better. Keeping directly behind the boy, he followed him to the wall. When his hand brushed against the rough bark of the palisade wall, he grasped Tall Moccasin's shoulders and turned the boy to face him. "Listen. You must find your aunt, Little Weaver, and take her over the wall. We must flee before the soldier manake know I have escaped, else all our lives are in danger."
Tall Moccasin nodded bravely. "This man will escort his aunt over the wall and into the safety of forest."
"Good. You know the place we said we must meet if ever there was trouble."
The boy nodded. "I will take my aunt there and wait for you, Uncle. But what of the horses? Most of our horses are inside the fort."
Fire Dancer smiled in the darkness. He was so proud of his sister's son. "We cannot worry over the horses. They are not important compared to the lives of men. Go and may God protect you."
"You do not come with me?"
Fire Dancer thought before he answered. The smartest thing for him to do would be to flee. There was nothing here for him. The peace talks had obviously come to an end. Nothing could come of seeing Mackenzie again. To try and see her, he would be taking great risk. Just over the fort wall lay freedom and life. Here inside the fort walls, he would find only pain and death. Still, he had to see her once more.
Fire Dancer's gaze met Tall Moccasin's. "I will come right behind you."
"But why do you not come now, Uncle? You are in great danger. You must escape. They said they would hang you even if the major did not give the word. I heard the one called Burrow say so."
"Give me your knife, Tall Moccasin, and do as this man tells you." He accepted the knife the boy offered and staring up in the direction of the single window lit by candlelight. "I will catch up to you and Little Weaver. First I must see someone."