Chapter Sixteen
Mackenzie sat on the edge of the sleeping platform and combed out her hair with a brush made of porcupine needles. The brush was a gift from Laughing Woman, as was the dress she wore.
Mackenzie stopped brushing her damp hair to finger the fringe of the leather dress. It was a long-sleeved sheath made of soft, white doeskin with fringe hanging off the shoulder seams and hem. There were tiny sea shells tied on the ends of the fringe that made a chiming sound when she walked. There were matching leggings for colder weather, Laughing Woman had explained. Those were folded neatly and placed in a basket beneath Fire Dancer's sleeping platform.
Laughing Woman had taken Mackenzie with her and her toddlers to pick berries after Mackenzie had finished her breakfast. Then she had taken her to a bathing area at the stream nearby where they had joined other women and children. Despite the language barrier and Mackenzie's apprehension concerning her position in the village, it had been an enjoyable afternoon. The children were curious. The women were friendly.
Mackenzie met Fire Dancer's sister Bird Song, Tall Mocca sin's mother, and several pretty cousins. Bird Song had made a point, in broken English, to thank Mackenzie for saving her son's life from the soldiers at Fort Belvadere. The afternoon had ended with all of the women bathing naked in the stream and washing each other's hair. Laughing Woman had made Mackenzie a gift of the white dress after the women had returned to the village, damp and wrapped in soft leather hides.
Mackenzie resumed brushing her hair. It was late afternoon now, and she'd not seen Fire Dancer all day. He had said they would see the holy man at dusk. The waiting was beginning to wear on her nerves. What possible way would the holy man punish her for painting Fire Dancer? Would she be whipped? Tied to a pole and starved? Would they try to burn her at the stake?
Mackenzie had seriously considered attempting to escape, but Fire Dancer had not exaggerated when he said there were numerous guards along the perimeter of the village. Mackenzie had spotted at least four braves patrolling only an hour ago when she'd returned from the stream. Okonsa had been one of them. She guessed there were more guards that she couldn't see.
And if she did run, where would she go? She knew which way was east and west, but because she'd been unconscious when Fire Dancer brought her here, she had no idea in what direction the village lay in relation to the fort.
Her instinct told her that this was not the time to attempt an escape, not when Fire Dancer expected it. Besides, surely her father was searching for her. Mackenzie knew Major Albertson didn't know where the village was, but perhaps if they searched long and hard enough they would find her. Then it wouldn't be up to the holy man or Fire Dancer what became of her.
She glanced up at the portrait of Fire Dancer hanging high above her head in the rafters of the wigwam. He still appeared as handsome to her as he had the first day she'd met him in Fort Belvadere's muddy yard. In truth, he was even more handsome, now that she knew him . . . now that she loved him.
Despite her fear and confusion, she knew she did love him. The realization had come the night he'd climbed through her window, beaten and battered by the soldiers. The night they had first made love. She sighed. When she thought back over the events that had led to their lovemaking, she had to wonder if she had always loved him.
Because of the love they shared, she knew in her heart that he wouldn't allow anyone to harm her, even if he didn't realize it. She studied the portrait. His black eyes, a difficult feature to capture in any model, were perfect, alive with his strength and depth of character. She wished he was here now, to hold her hand, to calm her fears.
She glanced up at the sound of someone entering Fire Dancer's wigwam. The last of daylight spilled into the wigwam. It was him. Once again, he knew when she needed him most.
Feeling the need to occupy her hands, she picked up her brush and began to run it through her long hair.
"Mack-en-zie, this man's sees that Laughing Woman has taken good care of you." He let the flap fall and it was once again semi-dark. The only light that illuminated the wigwam came from the hole in the ceiling.
"She . . . yes." Mackenzie didn't know what to say to him. Did she declare her undying love or tell him how furious she was that he had put her in this position? A part of her wanted to scream and pound him with her fists. A part of her wanted to run into his arms.
Fire Dancer shimmied up the center support post, grabbed his portrait, and brought it down with him.
"We bathed in the stream," she finished lamely as she watched him. "She gave me this beautiful dress."
Fire Dancer set the portrait by the doorway and approached her. "This man must speak to you before we meet with the holy man. There is something I must tell you." He pulled a pair of moccasins from the waistband of his loin skin and placed them on the sleeping platform beside her. His gaze fixed on her, he clasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. He had an odd, almost guilty, look on his face. Then his gaze swept over her garb and his expression changed to one of concern.
"What?" The seashells on the leather fringe rang like tiny silver bells. "You don't like the dress on me?"
"Mahtah . It is not that." He still held her hand tightly. "The dress is beautiful. You are beautiful, only . . ."
"Only what?"
"It is a garment for special occasions. Laughing Woman should not have given you her special dress."
"What kind of special occasions do you mean?" She stood in front of him. It seemed only natural that she place her hand on the bare spot at the opening of his porcupine-quilled vest.
"Weddings, naming ceremonies . . . funerals."
Mackenzie took in a sharp breath. Was that fear she heard in Fire Dancer's voice? "He . . . Snake Man, he wouldn't really try to have me—"
Fire Dancer pressed his finger to her lips silencing her. "Do not speak of it. It would be bad luck so close to dusk and the time we must face our holy man."
"But he's not my holy man," she protested firmly. "I asked for no part of this." Then her gaze met his and she knew what he was thinking. "Until I painted your portrait."
"Ah."
"Ah," she whispered.
He rested his hands on her waist and stared directly into her eyes. Mackenzie brushed her palm across his bare chest beneath the leather vest and a trill of excitement pulsed through her veins. Her head was filled with images of Fire Dancer touching her, kissing her. In reaction, her breasts tingled and her nipples grew hard beneath the doeskin. She knew she was mad to think of such things. What kind of wanton woman was she that someone might hand down a death sentence to her and all she could think of was lying with a savage?
She felt another shiver of pleasure as Fire Dancer brushed the nape of her neck with his hand. When he leaned to take her mouth with his, she put up no resistance.
"No matter what happens," he whispered. "This man will love you until the sands of time run out."
Mackenzie sighed. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. She slipped her hands around his neck and kissed him again. "How did this happen?" she murmured.
He touched her, his hand skimming over the doeskin dress, sending waves of pleasure through her. "This man does not know. I did not intend to love you or to take your body."
She leaned her head back so that he could kiss the pulse of her throat. "You did not take me. I gave myself freely because . . ." She didn't know why it was so hard to say. "Because I love you, Fire Dancer."
He smiled. "Those are words that fill this man with hope." He sat down on the edge of the sleeping platform and pulled her onto his lap. "Though for what, I do not know. I do not know what path has been chosen for us."
Mackenzie didn't know anything about fate. She didn't even know if she believed in it. She couldn't think about it now. Her thoughts were too jumbled, her emotions too overwrought. What seemed to matter at this moment was Fire Dancer and her love for him, no matter what was about to happen.
She sat on his lap facing him, her legs straddling him. Outside, someone began to beat a drum, the rhythm so slow that each beat seemed to be the last. Just when she didn't expect another, it came. The anticipation made her breathless. "Do . . . do we have to go soon?"
"Ah." He took a handful of her hair, brought it to his nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her. "The holy man instructs that you and I must come together and bring the portrait. The entire village will join us along with our chief. We will meet at the center village fire as the sun sets over the tree tops."
His whispered words sent shivers down her spine. She was afraid. Perhaps it was her fear that heightened every sensation she felt. Each time he touched her she trembled.
She brushed her lips against his smooth cheek, upward to the lobe of his ear. "How soon?"
His mouth touched her cheek. "Soon."
Without realizing it, Mackenzie ground her hips against his. The bulge of his loincloth felt so good against her groin. "So soon that we could not . . ." Not knowing a word to use, she let her voice fade.
He chuckled huskily, drawing her closely, lifting beneath her. It was so dark inside the wigwam now that she could only see the outline of his face. "You would have this man after what he has done to you?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth. "Call me mad as May butter," she breathed, raggedly. "It's all I can think of."
He caught the hem of the precious white dress and lifted it so that it bunched around her waist. The air felt cool on her bare buttocks.
She moaned as he crushed his mouth hard against hers. He caressed her bare bottom with his hands and kneaded the sensitive flesh. Her tongue twisted with his in a slow, delicious dance of love and lust.
Did she dare make love with Fire Dancer here in the middle of his village? Outside the cornhusk walls she could hear the drum pounding; she could hear men and women's voices and the sounds of their moccasined feet as they passed. They were headed toward the central campfire . . . waiting for her and for Fire Dancer.
Mackenzie's heart pounded. Her breath came in short gasps as she caught the feminine scent of her desire for Fire Dancer.
She wanted him. It made no sense, but she wanted him, anyway.
She ground her hips against his. Boldly she reached down to untie his loincloth.
As her fingers found the warm, hardening flesh of his manhood, she wondered wildly if there was some truth to the concept of possession of the soul. Only it was Mackenzie that felt as if she was possessed by his man, and not the other way around.
"Mack-en-zie . . ." He groaned in her ear and gripped her hips tighter.
She felt the length of his shaft in her hand and marveled at the delicate softness of his skin and the pleasure he found in her touch. The notion that she could give as much pleasure to him as he had given to her excited her.
He buried his face between her breasts. Through the doeskin she felt her nipples puckering with pleasure. He tugged on the leather ties at the neckline and the dress fell open to her waist. She sighed with pleasure as he slipped his hand inside the dress and cupped her bare breast.
She stroked him again and again and he grew longer . . . thicker in her hand.
"Mack-en-zie . . . Mack-en-zie," he murmured as he chafed her nipple with the pad of his thumb. "You truly do possess me, woman of my heart."
She smiled at his sweet words. It was completely dark in the wigwam now. The last rays of the sun no longer shone through the hole in the roof. Surely it was time they joined the others, yet joining here in the darkness was all she could think of.
Mackenzie's breath came in short pants. The beat of the drum was faster now, pounding urgently in her ears. Her heartbeat matched the rhythm. All she could think of was her compelling need to feel him inside her. She attempted to slide off his lap to lie on the bed, but he stopped her.
"Mahtah," he crooned. "Do not leave me in such need. Sit here, kitehi. "
Her eyes widened. "Here?" she whispered.
"Ah . There are many ways for a man and woman to share their love. This man will show you. It will be pleasure for us both, I promise."
Trusting him completely, she lifted up on her tiptoes and allowed him to guide her. With one hand, he found the source of her desires already wet with want of him. Without a fumble, he guided his shaft inside her.
Mackenzie moaned in surprise. It felt different this way, but good . . . so good.
She slipped her hands around his neck. He encircled her hips with his arms. By rising and lowering on her toes she discovered that she could control the rhythm of their lovemaking.
Up and down she stroked. Sweat beaded above her upper lip. Her breath came faster. She thrust faster, matching her pace to his breathing. His breath quickened and she slowed down. His breath came more evenly and she stroked faster.
He groaned with pleasure, calling her name, caressing her back and bare bottom. Soon she could no longer move only to give him pleasure. Her own desire had become too strong, too overpowering. The urge to drive faster, take him deeper was too intense.
He caught her hands and they laced their fingers together. "Fire Dancer." She called his name with wild abandon, unaware that someone might hear her cries of pleasure.
Her world suddenly burst into a thousand shards of bright light, each twinkle a shudder of pleasure. She felt Fire Dancer's entire body stiffen beneath her and with one last thrust he released his seed into her with a groan of relief.
For a long moment Mackenzie sat perfectly still on his lap, riding the last waves of sensation. Outside she could hear the drums again. Men were chanting. There were no individual sounds, only the drums and the haunting voices.
"We must go, Mack-en-zie," he said, his voice still husky from their lovemaking.
She smoothed the silky black hair on the crown of his head. "This woman knows," she answered simply.
She climbed off his lap and pushed down her dress. She wished he would light a lamp so that she could see his face. It was so dark inside the wigwam that she couldn't see his face.
She heard him stand and search for his loin cloth on the sleeping platform. With a smile, she reached into the bed furs and held it out to him. He made a motion to take it from her with his hand that trembled.
She was touched that she could affect him in such a way. "No," she said softly, pushing his hands away. "Let me." She had watched him do it before. She knew how it tied. She needed no light to see. As she wrapped the soft leather around his bare buttocks and tucked in his manhood, she felt a strange sense of closeness with him she'd not felt before. This closeness was comfortable.
She gave the knot she tied at his hip a pat for good measure. "Done." She glanced up. "There was something you wanted to tell me when you came in?"
"I . . ." He wiped his damp forehead with his hand. "It is nothing. This is not the time." He reached behind her to the sleeping mat. "This man brought you a gift. Moccasins. Sit and I will put them on you."
They both looked toward the door at the sound of the door flap moving. It was Laughing Woman. Mackenzie felt flustered. What if she had come in only a few moments before? Mackenzie would have been mortified to have been caught in the act . . . and sitting on his lap for heaven's sake.
"It is time you come to the great fire," Laughing Woman said simply. "Snake Man and chief wait."
Mackenzie could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She couldn't see Laughing Woman's face and yet she got the impression that the woman knew what they had been doing. Before Mackenzie could say anything the flap fell and she was gone.
"Fire Dancer, who is she?"
He turned to her. "She is Laughing Woman, of course."
"No. Who is she? To you." She felt a tightening in her throat. "Is that what you came to tell me? Please say she's not your wife."
"Laughing Woman is not my wife. This man would not have been free to make love with you if he had a wife. Now sit and let me place the moccasins on your feet."
She sat down and dangled her bare feet over the edge of the bed. "Where did you get them?" Even in the darkness she could see that the moccasins were made of white doeskin like her dress.
Each touch a caress, he slid her foot gently into the buttery leather. "My mother's wigwam."
She stared at his bowed head. Her woman's sense of intuition told her he did not give the whole truth. "They were meant for Laughing Woman, weren't they?" It was a question, not an accusation.
He tied the moccasin tight on her foot and reached for the other. "This is not the time to speak of this matter, Mack-en-zie. We must turn our thoughts to that which is more important." He tied the other moccasin and took her hand, raising her off the bed. "Come. We must go."
Mackenzie swallowed against her fear and took her place at Fire Dancer's side. He picked up the portrait and carried it as they stepped out of the privacy of the wigwam and into the unknown.
Joshua Watkins warmed his hands over the open camp fire in the center of the fort compound. It was late at night and a chilling breeze blew through the treetops. All around him soldiers patrolled the palisade walls.
Josh cleared his throat. "You have to let me go, Major, with or without soldiers. I'm not under your command. You can't make me stay."
Major Albertson stood directly across the campfire and puffed on his long-stemmed Dutch pipe. "It's not because I don't want you to go, boy." He sounded worn out. "It's not because I don't want to find her, but you're young and you're inexperienced."
"Not as young as I was two weeks ago."
Albertson gazed at Josh, the firelight flickering across his face. "Guess you're right on that one. An Indian attack does that to a man. Some it strengthens, others it breaks down. It broke Lieutenant Allen. I sent him home to England babbling about his mother's pudding. You . . ." With his boot, he scuffed the dirt that had finally dried in the yard. "I've seen you grow up fast. I've seen you act like a man. You've been a great help to me these last few days since the attack. More of a help than some of my officers."
Josh hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his wool breeches. "I gotta go, Harry. Her father's dead. It's my place to find her." And I was the one that shot her , he thought. "To make sure she really is all right."
Josh hadn't told anyone what had happened that night. He was too embarrassed, too horrified by his own actions, his own stupidity, to confess.
Albertson sighed and scratched his beard. "Hell, Josh." He sounded choked up. "I hate to be the one to say this but, you know she's got to be de—"
"Don't say it," Josh warned. He kept his voice low, but he wanted the major to know he meant what he said. Mackenzie couldn't have died from the gunshot wound he inflicted. It could only have been a graze. There'd been no blood. "She's not dead. I know Mackenzie. She's a survivor. She'd do whatever she had to live."
Albertson groaned. "If I can accept the fact, you can. Josh, you don't know these redskins like I do. They'd not give her a chance to escape. They—"
"With all due respect, there's no need for us to be gettin' into this discussion again, Major." Josh stared across the campfire at him. "I'm going out looking for her. I've found a half-breed scout willing to lead me. He knows where the Hurons and the Shawnee winter. He thinks he can help me find her."
"For a price."
"Aye, for a price. But hell, I got Mr. Daniels' money. I got his tavern and trading post back on the Chesapeake now." Josh fought the tears that stung the backs of his eyeballs. "But without Mackenzie, without my woman, I got nothin'." He wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his coat. It was a coat Mackenzie had patched for him just last winter. "You understand what I'm saying?"
"I understand. Hell, I wish I could go with you." He looked away. "But facts are facts and my first responsibility is to my men. Without reinforcements, I can't send any soldiers with you. I just can't." He put out his hand. "If you wait another week or so, maybe the fresh troops will arrive. Maybe—"
"With all due respect, I can't wait, sir. Winter is coming in fast. The first snow will fly soon." Josh held out his hand in goodwill. "I gotta go now before it's too late."
Major Albertson took his hand and clasped it tightly. "Good luck. I hope to hell you find her. I really do."
Josh released the major's hand, tipped his hat and walked away from the campfire. "Don't you worry. I will. I will because I know Mackenzie's countin' on me."