Chapter Two
Major Albertson wrapped her in his arms in a bear hug, his full beard scratching her face as he kissed her. "You made it. I knew you would." He was a big man, as tall and wide as a doorway. His laughter was warm and genuine.
He and her father had been friends as boys living together on the Tidewater. As adults, they had gone their separate ways but stayed in touch. Franklin had built the tavern and trading post. Harry had bought himself a commission in the king's army.
Mackenzie lifted her arms automatically to her friend's embrace, but her thoughts were not on the major's welcome. She didn't know what it was about the Indian that mesmerized her so, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from him.
Major Albertson released her and held out his hands to Franklin Daniels.
Mackenzie just stood there in the ankle-deep mud watching the Indian. He stared back with the darkest obsidian eyes she had ever seen. He made her feel self-conscious. Her appearance had never been of importance to her in the past, but suddenly she wished she weren't so dirty and travel-worn. She pushed back a lock of droopy hair, hoping she improved her appearance a little.
"Ah, Franklin. You did come with Mackenzie." Major Albertson shook her father's hands vigorously. "I knew you'd not be able to resist my invitation." The two friends embraced, and then the major stepped back. "I want to introduce to you one of our delegates."
Still, the Indian stared at her. Still, she stared back, taking in every ripple of the sun-bronzed muscles on his bare arms and legs. Sweet heavens, the man was nearly naked and not a bit ashamed. The setting sun sparkled off the ornamental copper bands that accentuated the girth of his biceps. His face was fine-lined, as if molded by a master potter, his skin the color of rich, red clay. His eyelids, fringed by black lashes never blinked. He had the most fascinating lips she had ever noticed on a man, thin and firm. Lips she imagined pressing against her own. What would they feel like? How would they taste? Mackenzie knew she blushed. She lowered her gaze, and focused on the men's conversation. Fire Dancer? Was that what the major had called the redman? She thought the major said he was an Indian prince or something.
The Indian dipped his noble chin in something akin to a nod to her father.
"And this is Mackenzie Daniels, his daughter," the major continued jovially.
Mackenzie didn't lift her torn skirts to curtsy as would have been proper. Instead, she nodded regally, imitating him.
She could have sworn she saw the barest smile cross his lips. Was he mocking her, or was he just amused?
"Major! I've a matter here that demands your attention." Lieutenant Burrow sloshed through the mud toward them, picking his way around a sow with a fetid cabbage in her mouth. Piglets squealed and scattered but for one that hung tightly to its mama's long teat.
"Lieutenant, can it not wait?" The major addressed his officer with good-natured impatience. "I'd like to offer my good friends a drink and a decent hot meal after their arduous journey."
"It cannot wait, sir, I assure you." The lieutenant planted himself before the major.
"Very well. Make it quick."
The lieutenant indicated the native boy with a nod of his chiseled chin. "We caught that redskin stealing your horse, sir. I intended to hang him there on the trail as a sign of our intolerance for thieves." He eyed Fire Dancer who stood silently beside the major. "But . . . but I thought better of it, sir, and decided to allow you the honors."
Mackenzie's eyes widened at the man's lie, but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for the major's response.
"Stole my horse?"
"Aye, sir." The lieutenant flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from his uniform coat. "But as I said, I've the culprit under custody."
"That boy stole my Johnny?" The major glanced over his shoulder at a private who stood behind him. He barely looked old enough to be off his mother's lead lines. "Somebody stole my horse and you didn't tell me, Private O'Donaho?"
The private immediately came to attention. "I . . . I didn't, I didn't know your Johnny was missing, Major."
"There's your stolen horse, sir." The lieutenant thrust out his chest. "Laden with Indian accouterments, but in good shape, nonetheless. We've returned him to the paddock."
"How the hell are we losing horses again with gates locked day and night?" The major pushed passed the lieutenant "This thief one of yours, Fire Dancer?" He took long strides toward the paddock intent on getting a better look at the horse and the boy who'd stolen it.
The Indian brushed past Mackenzie as he walked at the major's side. He passed so closely to her that she felt the warmth of his skin.
"This man knows the boy," said Fire Dancer. "He is not a thief."
Mackenzie followed Fire Dancer with her gaze, fascinated by the sound of his voice. It was smooth like honey and lilting, each syllable pronounced in slow, perfect English. Then he let out a string of gibberish, and the boy called back in the same tongue. It must have been their Indian language they spoke.
Mackenzie ran a couple steps to catch up with Major Albertson and Fire Dancer.
Her father called her name, warning her to stay out of it, but she pretended she didn't hear him. "I knew you would want to take care of this matter yourself, Harry," she said as she reached his side. "I didn't think you'd want a child hanged."
The major lifted a thick brow. "What made me guess you were somehow involved in this?"
She looked away quickly, feeling self-conscious as the Indian watched her. The lieutenant and the escort soldiers all followed her and the major and the Indian to the paddock near the entrance to the fort.
"There, there he is, sir. Sound and safe."
Major Albertson leaned on the split rail fence. "Where?"
"There, sir. Still wearing the trappings. I wanted you to see how the savage tried to disguise your mount. The little heathen has even painted pagan symbols on the hindquarters."
"Hell, that isn't my Johnny!" The major spun around. "Have you lost what little sense you possessed, Burrow?"
The lieutenant paled under his superior's gaze. "I . . . I was certain that was your horse. It . . . it's a roan gelding with a star on its forehead."
"And boots, for heaven's sake! Does my Johnny have white boots?"
"No, sir," said Private O'Donaho standing beside him.
"No sir, I guess not, sir," echoed the lieutenant.
Fire Dancer stood at the rail of the paddock. "My horse," he said quietly. "The boy is son to my sister. He is called Tall Moccasin. Tall Moccasin brings the horse to his uncle."
The major nodded toward the Indian boy bound at the hands and pinned between two redcoats. "That's your nephew?"
"Ah." Fire Dancer nodded.
"Ah," Mackenzie mimicked under her breath. She didn't know why, but she liked the sound of the word.
"Well, why the hell didn't you say so?"
"This man knows that all English manake suspect we sav ages." He emphasized the word with sarcasm. "I wanted you to see the truth for your own eyes."
The major gave a snort. "Don't just stand there," he shouted to the soldiers. "Let him the hell go!" He waved his hand impatiently. "Didn't you just hear our guest? It's Fire Dancer's horse!"
One of the soldiers hurriedly began to untie the boy.
"I apologize for the mistake," the lieutenant said. "I saw the redskin, and I knew he couldn't actually own a horse. I—"
Fire Dancer glared at the Lieutenant.
The major held up his hand to silence his officer. "If I were in your boots right now, Burrow, I think I'd shut my mouth. You're in deep enough horse crap as it is." He lowered his voice so that only the lieutenant and Mackenzie heard him. "You're lucky old Fire Dancer didn't scalp you right here. Now get out of my sight. I'll see you at Report tonight."
Fire Dancer turned and walked toward his nephew.
"I apologize, Fire Dancer," the major called after him. "You get these men barely weaned from their mama's tit and they want to make an impression on their superiors. Bring the boy to the evening meal, if you like. I want you both to be guests in my quarters for supper."
Fire Dancer nodded. His black hair, as long as Mackenzie's and tied in a queue, blew in the late afternoon breeze. "This man thanks you." The sarcasm was gone from his tone. "There are no bad feelings. I also have men who do not think with their heads."
"See you for supper, then," the major called. Then, turning his attention to Mackenzie, he took her hand. "Come on, girl. Let's see about that drink, you and I. Your father looks parched."
"You mean he looks mad." She dragged her gaze from the Indian as she and the major walked side by side through the mud and refuse of the fort yard. "He doesn't like me interfering in men's business. He's says I'm going to get myself injured or worse."
The major looked at her. "And your father's a wise man."
"Harry, I couldn't just let that lieutenant hang that boy." She raised her voice in anger at the thought of what could have happened. "It wasn't even a stolen horse."
"I know, I know." Harry patted her hand. "It was wrong for that young man to jump to conclusions, but you don't know the whole story here. You don't why they're all so scared, why we're all scared," he said cryptically. "Now smooth your dander. I was going to say your father is right, that you risk getting hurt, but I admire your grit." He smiled. "You're one ballsy woman. And I know you won't be offended by me saying so. That's why I knew this would be the perfect job for you."
She smiled. "The portraits. You want me to get started right away?" she said, so excited that she could barely contain herself. "Who will I be painting? You, of course. But who else?"
He laughed. "Let's get you settled in first. There'll be plenty of time tonight after supper or tomorrow to talk of business. There's your father now. Gads, who is that pale boy with him?"
Mackenzie couldn't resist a giggle. "That was to be my betrothed, Joshua Watkins."
"Was to be?" He raised eyebrows so bushy that they met as one in the middle of his forehead. "You turned him down?"
"It would never work. I don't want to marry Joshua, or any other man, for that matter."
Major Albertson chuckled. "Just wait, sweetheart. You've just not met the right man yet."
Her father approached them, interrupting their conversation. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had to see to my wagon. Josh got it stuck trying to move it." He shot an impatient glare in Mackenzie's direction. "I do apologize for my daughter's interference in your business."
The major waved his free hand. "No apologies necessary. I know her as well as you do. Now let Private O'Donaho take you to your quarters to get cleaned up. It isn't fancy, but it's a sight cleaner than this yard." He kicked a blackened potato with the toe of his boot. "You and the boy, Franklin, will be bunking with the officers because space is tight, but I had a nice corner storage room cleaned out for Mackenzie on the second floor. She'll be safe and well-guarded there. After you get settled in, we'll talk in my quarters. I got a hind of bear sizzling on the spit as we speak. The meat with a nice Madeira will make us all forget our troubles." He winked.
"Thank you," Mackenzie mouthed silently. And then she allowed her father and the private to lead her away.
The quarters Major Albertson provided for Mackenzie were more than adequate. The rustic room was small, perhaps eight feet by eight feet, the walls horizontal logs with the bark still on them. There was a narrow rope bed with a feather tick that would be perfectly comfortable once she added her mother's blue and white quilt. The room had no fireplace, but it was already warm enough that she wouldn't need one. A stump serving as a table and a canvas camp stool occupied one corner. Iron nails had been pounded into one wall for her to hang her clothing. But the best thing about the room was its small window.
Mackenzie kneeled on her bed, pulled the iron pin on the shutter, and pushed it open. A warm breeze from the trees blew in, chasing away the stench of the fort. She pressed her face to the wooden bars, breathing deeply. The window faced west, giving her a view of the sun beginning to set over the treetops in a glorious ball of blazing red and yellow.
Mackenzie smiled to herself, bouncing up off the bed. This room would be ideal for her painting. She already knew where she would place her subjects—there, in the corner of the room, and here . . . here she would place her easel. She glanced at the window. The only problem would be whether or not she would have enough natural light. It was almost dusk now and already necessary to illuminate the room with several smelly, fat-back candles. She would have to wait until daylight to see how much sun filtered through the chinks in the log walls.
Someone tapped at the door and Mackenzie answered it. It was Private O'Donaho with her trunk.
"Just put it right there," she said as she held open the door.
The boy dropped the trunk beside the bed and made a hasty retreat to the doorway, obviously shy. "Will . . . will there be anything else, Miss?"
She followed him to the door. "It's Mackenzie. And, no. I don't need anything else. Thank you for bringing up my trunk."
"Your . . . your father says he'll have your painting supplies sent up whilst you're at supper." He stole a quick glance at her before returning his gaze to his boots. "I . . . I'll see to it myself, Miss . . . um . . . Mackenzie."
She smiled. "Thank you. It's Charlie, right?"
He scuffed his boot. "Private Charlie O'Donaho."
She rested her hand on the door, anxious to change out of her dirty travel clothes and get downstairs to the meal Major Albertson promised. She was looking forward to seeing the Indian again. "Well, thank you again."
"My . . . my pleasure." The private backed out of the room and closed her door behind him.
Mackenzie immediately went to the trunk. She hadn't brought many pieces of clothing with her, and what she had brought was rather utilitarian. As silly as it was, she wanted to look presentable tonight. She told herself it was because she had displeased her father today, and she knew how he appreciated it when she at least made an attempt to appear feminine. But she knew that wasn't the whole truth. What she really wanted was to look nice for him .
Mackenzie changed into her leather skirt and a white linen shirt she'd confiscated from her father's clothes press years ago. She added a wide leather belt she'd bought at the Chester-town fair. The clothing was plain, but from what she could see in the small looking-glass she brought with her, the white was becoming against her suntanned skin and the skirt form-fitting enough to flatter her figure.
She brushed out her hair and on impulse, left it down but for a braid she twisted on the crown of her head. After she rubbed off most of the mud that had dried on her boots, she was ready.
Giddy with excitement, Mackenzie made her way down the narrow, cloistering hallway and down the steps, carrying a candle for light. At the bottom of the steps, she found a redcoat soldier, obviously on duty.
"This way, Miss." He led her through a labyrinth of narrow passageways. Squeaking rodents raced ahead of them. She ducked as a bat flew overhead. The soldier paid no mind to the pests, so neither did she. She'd have no one saying Mackenzie Daniels was a cowering female.
Mackenzie heard the men laughing before she reached the major's quarters. She recognized Harry's boisterous voice and her father's own quieter one.
The soldier swung open a crude planked door and stepped back to let her enter. He reached for her candle. "I'll take it, Miss."
"Thank you." She lifted her leather skirt to step over the sill, and entered the noisy dining room.
"There you are." Joshua hurried toward her.
He was still wearing the same dusty clothes, his hair uncombed, his face unwashed. She could smell his body odor an arm's length away.
"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
"Fine. Why?"
He lowered his voice so that no one else could hear him. "The quarters your father and I are sharing with the officers are dreadful."
"My room is fine." She lifted her shoulder. "Small, but quite nice. I can paint right there, if I wish."
"I think your father should sell his goods, and we should turn around and go home to the Chesapeake. This is no place for a woman."
"Mackenzie!" Major Albertson waved for her to approach. He stood on the far side of the room near a stone fireplace, a mug in his hand.
"I rather like it here," Mackenzie answered Joshua as she waved back at Harry. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She nodded politely and left him to join the major.
"A drink, Mackenzie?"
She smiled up at Major Albertson as he crossed the plank floor to greet her. "You promised me a good Madeira."
"Charlie! Get Miss Daniels a Madeira." He turned back to her. "Your room satisfactory?"
"Perfect. I appreciate the window." She wrinkled her nose. "I prefer the scent of the forest to that of the fort, I fear."
He laughed heartily. "You get used to it after awhile, dear." He accepted a glass of amber wine from O'Donaho and pushed it into her hands. "Let's eat. I'm starving."
Mackenzie took the seat Major Albertson indicated next to her father, who sat next to the major at the head of the table. Joshua sat further down with the other officers. The table quickly filled, save for two empty chairs directly across from Mackenzie.
After a quick blessing, they began their meal. A young woman appeared through a doorway with the first course. She was a pretty native woman dressed in a stained English bodice and petticoats. Her black hair was pulled back and tucked haphazardly under a mob cap. As the only other woman Mackenzie had seen at the fort so far, she immediately intrigued Mackenzie. If it hadn't been for her bronze skin, she'd have looked like a serving wench in Franklin Daniel's tavern.
"Mary makes the best damned roast bear south of the Adirondacks."
She had a Christian name? How odd. Mackenzie smiled as the woman gave her a portion of soup. "Thank you, Mary."
Mary kept her eyes averted.
Mackenzie took a corn biscuit and passed the plate to the young lieutenant beside her. She glanced at the empty chairs. "Missing guests?"
The major slathered butter on his three biscuits. "Indian time."
"Sir?"
Albertson chuckled. "Our Shawnee delegate moves on what I call Indian time. It's not that he can't tell time. He's even got himself a silver pocket watch. He just doesn't pay attention to it. Comes and goes as he pleases. It drives our French delegate Major DuBois mad." He reached for the stewed squash her father passed. "The Indian and his nephew'll be around after awhile."
Mackenzie lifted her fork to taste the bear meat. "And where is the French delegate?"
"Called away." Albertson took an enormous bite of his biscuit. "Had to go north to settle some uprising. Seems a pack of his own redskins turned on one of his forts. He's expected back within a fortnight, though."
Mackenzie nodded. The bear meat was strong but moist and savory. She cut off another slice as her gaze wandered to the empty chairs. She listened as her father and the major struck up a conversation.
The meal was half over when the outside door swung open, and Fire Dancer and his nephew entered. Obviously, they had bathed. Fire Dancer's hair, pulled back in a sleek queue, was still wet. He had changed into a knee length skirt, tall moccasins and a soft buckskin tunic that was beaded with the most beautiful work she had ever seen. The boy was dressed similarly.
Mackenzie smiled to herself, lowering her gaze to her plate. From the smell of the room, there were a few others who should have followed the Indians' example.
"Major Albertson." Fire Dancer nodded.
"Sit. Sit. You know the drill." The Major rocked back in his chair. "Mary!" he shouted. " 'Nother guest."
Fire Dancer took his seat directly across from Mackenzie, allowing the boy to sit beside Major Albertson.
"This is my sister's son, Tall Moccasin," Fire Dancer introduced.
Major Albertson stuffed another piece of biscuit into his mouth. "So sorry about the mix-up, boy. You weren't injured, were you?"
The Indian boy looked to his uncle, as if asking permission to speak.
Fire Dancer nodded slightly.
"This man was not injured," the boy said simply. Then he pulled his knife from his belt and dug into the slab of bear meat Mary served him.
Fire Dancer's gaze moved across the table and settled on Mackenzie. He said nothing.
She had no clue as to what he was thinking. She said nothing. She couldn't tear her gaze from his deep, soul-searching black eyes.
"Mackenzie?"
She blinked. "I'm sorry, Major. What did you say? It's been a long day, and I fear I wasn't paying attention."
"I said you'll be painting Fire Dancer. Me, Fire Dancer, and Major DuBois, when he gets here. We will settle this fighting here, and our portraits'll be hanging in Whitehall in London."
Mackenzie grinned at the thought. "I'll do my best, Harry, I swear it."
"I know you will."
Dinner progressed quickly. The officers were so pleased to have female companionship that they all vied for her attention. Here, it didn't seem to matter that she wasn't very feminine. She was flattered by the attention, but a shameless part of her wished it was coming from the Indian.
One by one, the men began to rise and excuse themselves. They had duties to attend to, or pipes to smoke. Fire Dancer and his nephew left, and Mackenzie was disappointed that she didn't get to speak to him—not that she knew what she would say to an Indian. She was disappointed, nonetheless.
For half an hour, Mackenzie listened to her father, Joshua, the major, and a few others discuss the war. Bored with the conversation, she finally excused herself.
"Let me escort you." Joshua jumped up.
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I can find my own way." Mackenzie stretched and yawned. She was anxious to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, she would set up her easel and begin searching for the perfect spot to paint the portraits.
Joshua glanced at Franklin. He pleaded with one hand. "Sir, you're not going to let her—."
"Hell, let her go, Josh. Women need time to themselves. She's safe, isn't she?" her father questioned the major.
Albertson nodded. "Safe as long as she's inside these walls."
Mackenzie said goodnight and taking a candle from Mary, she stepped out into the dark hallway.
"Need an escort, ma'am?"
Startled by the soldier's voice, she pressed her hand to her pounding heart. "Goodness, no. But thank you." Lifting the candle, she started down the narrow passageway, but instead of heading straight for the staircase, she made a slight detour. She needed a breath of fresh air before she went to sleep.
Mackenzie pushed open a heavy door and stepped out onto a wooden walkway. She leaned on a rail and breathed deeply. The yard was quiet now except for the sound of horses naying and the occasional squeal of a piglet. The tiny windows of the fort were illuminated with light. The watch soldiers' pipes glowed in the darkness on the palisade walls across the open yard. High in the sky above the fort walls, the stars glimmered.
Mackenzie sighed at the beauty. She had enjoyed sleeping outside so much during her journey that she hated the thought of sleeping in a dark, storage-closet-turned-bedchamber.
"It is beautiful, Tapalamawatah's sky, no?"
Mackenzie didn't know where he came from. She'd never heard a sound, and yet, suddenly the Indian was standing beside her, gazing up into the heavens. Her heart gave a little trip.
"It is beautiful," she whispered. He was so close that his bare arm brushed her sleeve. He smelled clean, like the forest, and the streams she'd crossed to reach the fort. The smell of him and his nearness made her feel strange inside, but not bad.
"I was just thinking that, in coming here, we slept outside under these stars," she said hesitantly. "It was the first time I ever slept outside. I'm going to miss it."
Fire Dancer took his time in responding. It was as if he actually considered her words before formulating his own reply. "In the winter, when it is cold and I sleep in my wigwam, this man misses the sky."
"So we have something in common." She smiled at him in the darkness. "I really didn't get to talk to you at the supper table."
He tapped his thumb and forefinger together in a rapid motion. "The officers, they chatter like magpies. This man wanted to speak to you. To thank you."
She didn't look at him because she didn't want him to know how nervous she was in his presence. "For what?"
"The soldiers could have hanged Tall Moccasin for what he did not do. You had courage to speak for him when your men did not."
She lifted her hand lamely. "It was nothing. I only wanted to see justice done. The boy didn't look like a thief to me and the lieutenant seemed too quick to accuse."
"To some, it was nothing. To me, much. This man loves the boy as he would love a son of his own loins. This man will not forget what you did for the boy . . . for me."
Mackenzie could feel the Indian staring intently at her. She didn't dare meet his gaze. How odd a man he was, speaking of love so freely. She wondered if it was the Indian way. It certainly wasn't the colonists way. Even her father, who she knew loved her a great deal, never actually used the word.
Fire Dancer was silent for so long that she thought he might leave. But she wasn't quite ready for him to go. She had to think of something to say to keep him a little longer. "I . . . I was wondering why you were here." She balanced the candlestick on the rail. "I mean, I know you're a delegate, but how were you chosen to come to the peace talks?"
When he didn't answer right away, she was afraid she had said something to offend him. "I'm sorry. Now I sound like the magpie. It's really none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."
"No. You have said nothing to anger this man. I am just surprised that you would have this question. Other white women I know do not speak of such matters."
She could feel her face growing warm. "Another fault of mine. I like politics." She smoothed her rough hands nervously. "Not very womanly." Then she raised her hands. "Like these."
To Mackenzie's surprise, Fire Dancer took one of her hands in his. She knew the proper thing would have been to pull away, but she couldn't help herself. His hands were the same size as hers—warm, gentle, but firm.
"This man does not think these hands are unwomanly." He smoothed them in something akin to a caress.
Now Mackenzie knew she was blushing. Surely he hadn't meant his comment to be a compliment, but she took it as one.
He let go of her hand. "You ask why I come? I come because the chief sent me. But the chief is also the parent to this man."
"Your father is the chief of your tribe? He must be very important." For some reason, she wasn't surprised. Fire Dancer had a quiet, commanding way about him.
He smiled. "Chief of my village, but an important chief. One who represents our—" he paused, obviously looking for the right word—"clan, as well."
"I see. And your clan wants peace. You don't want to fight with the French against the British anymore."
He lifted a finger to correct her. "This man and his clan did not choose sides. Not yet."
She nodded. "But you will?"
"This man wishes for peace. No sides. No enemies."
She smiled grimly. "I understand." They were both silent for a moment, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. "Well, I'd better go inside before someone starts looking for me, thinking I've been kidnapped by wild Indians." She swallowed a laugh as she realized what she'd said. Now she felt like a complete fool.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean that. It's only that—"
"It is what you know. What you have been told by your men."
Ashamed, she hung her head. "Yes. I fear I've not really been left to make my own judgments." She lifted her chin. "But I am now, and I'm thinking that maybe my father has been wrong." She reached for the candle, lifting it to illuminate his face. "You don't seem so dangerous to me."
"No?" He raised a feathery black eyebrow, his face without emotion. "Do not be so sure."
Then he walked away as silently as he'd come.