Chapter Seven
Mackenzie leaned on the hitching rail, too busy watching through the open gate of the fort for a glimpse of Fire Dancer to pay attention to the conversation between her father and Major Albertson. For a full week, he'd secretly been coming every night to her tiny, dimly lit quarters. The more time she spent with him, the more time she wanted to spend with him. She experienced the strangest feelings when he was around. Her stomach was queasy whenever he was near, as if he made her ill, yet when he was gone, she missed him.
As agreed, they didn't converse in public at all. If they passed in the compound, they would cordially nod, avoiding eye-contact. If Fire Dancer was invited to Major Albertson's supper table, Mackenzie avoided him, staying close to her father and Joshua.
Because they only spoke at night in the privacy of her quarters, by day Mackenzie had to be content to watch him from afar. Twice this week, he had somehow managed to get into the fort during the day and leave a gift on her bed without being seen. Once it had been a shiny black stone, and another time, a wood carving of a bird no bigger than her thumbnail. She kept both gifts safe in her traveling trunk along with the silver snuff box Mary had given her.
As Mackenzie searched for Fire Dancer among the men that milled about, she told herself that she searched for him because she was an artist and artists study their subjects. She studied him only because she was interested in portraying him as accurately as she could. She smiled at her own cleverness. And paint him she would.
Not seeing Fire Dancer, Mackenzie turned around and leaned back against the hitching rail. The Major was saying something about Major DuBois in a hushed tone. Was he coming? Was that what he'd said?
"So when you expecting him, Harry?" Her father puffed on his long-stemmed Dutch pipe. The smoke encircled his head and then drifted away in the still, hot afternoon air.
"The runner brought a message saying he'll be here in no more than a week, as long as he doesn't run into trouble."
"He's coming? The French major is finally coming?" Mackenzie interrupted unable to control her excitement. All she could think of was her success. With Harry's portrait done, she would paint DuBois, and then finish Fire Dancer's portrait.
"So says the half-breed runner he sent. Said DuBois was right as rain and anxious to return to the peace talks. I thought maybe the messenger had something to do with this morning's assignment." Mackenzie nodded in the direction of the palisade. Outside the wall most of the soldiers were lined up, spades in hand. She could hear the sound of their shovels as they dug.
"That?" Harry lifted his beefy hand and let it fall. "Just a precaution. I'm having them dig a trench so that the bulwark will be more difficult to climb."
Mackenzie turned to glance at the jagged walls. She knew first hand that the wall could be climbed. That was how Fire Dancer reached her each night. It hadn't occurred to her that they could be attacked by hostiles the same way. The hair on the back of neck prickled as she turned to face Harry again. "You're expecting trouble?" All she could think of was that if there was fighting, her father would take her away from the fort.
"A good leader always expects trouble." Harry plucked at his shaggy beard. "Don't worry that pretty red head of yours, Mackenzie. Truth is, I'm just giving the boys something to do."
Franklin spoke with his pipe clenched between his teeth. "What aren't you telling, Harry? You and I have known each other too long not to be honest with each other."
"Well . . ." Harry stalled. "Things happen out here. Isolated incidents."
"What? What happened?" Mackenzie half-whispered.
Harry made a point to study the cannon one of the soldiers was polishing on the palisade wall. "A patrol from another fort—only down the river a good day's ride from here—were ambushed."
Mackenzie's eyes widened. "By Indians?"
"Had to be." The Major grimaced. "They were all scalped and their livers were cut out."
Mackenzie swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. "But they wouldn't attack Fort Belvadere, would they? Not with the Shawnee delegation here. Not when you're trying to negotiate peace?"
"As I said, it was an isolated incident, Mackenzie. The redskins have got renegades the same as our army does and so do the French." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "No need to be afraid. We're as safe as the king's coffer. I've doubled the patrols and by week's end these boys will have that trench dug all the way around the fort."
Mackenzie watched Harry. "I'm not afraid. Honestly I'm not. I—"
"Major!" Lieutenant Burrow strode down the wooden walk, his polished boots tapping on the planks. "I must speak with you, sir." He halted and saluted.
Major Albertson returned the salute. "What is it now, Burrow? I told you what to do with Private Peters. A few days digging the new shit hole—pardon, Mackenzie—and he'll not sleep on duty again, Lieutenant."
The young man shook his head. "No, sir, it's not Peters. It's another matter."
"Yes, Lieutenant. Make it quick."
"It's about thievery, sir."
Mackenzie's attention was immediately tapped. Before Burrow said another word, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what this was about.
"Thievery?" Albertson question gruffly.
"Yes, sir. Something has been stolen from me. From my personal affects."
"A thief among our men?" The major lifted his brow. "You know I won't tolerate thieving or taking the good Lord's name in vain. What's missing?"
"A snuff box, sir."
Mackenzie just stood there, barely hearing what the men said next. Of course, she knew where the snuff box was. It was in her room. She knew who stole it, too.
"Sterling silver and rather valuable," Burrow went on. "My father gave it to me before we set sail from Bristol. It was my grandfather's, sir, and of great sentimental merit."
Mackenzie felt a sense of rising panic. She had to do something before the soldiers found out what Mary had done.
"You certain you didn't misplace the thing?"
"No, sir, I—"
"Excuse me, gentlemen." She touched her hand to her forehead. "I've been foolish enough to misremember my bonnet again and now I fear my head aches."
The Lieutenant swept off his hat. "Are you in need of an escort to your quarters, mistress?" She must have appeared pale because he put out his hand as if he thought she might faint.
"Mackenzie?" Franklin took a step toward her.
"No. I'll be fine. Really." She lifted her hand to stop them. "I just think I need to lay down. Father. Major. Lieutenant." She gave a quick curtsy, bidding them good-bye, and then headed for the inside door. She had to talk to Fire Dancer. Quickly. He would know what to do about Mary.
A few minutes later, Mackenzie walked along the palisade walkway with her hands tucked behind her back, her bonnet tied neatly beneath her chin. Hopefully, to the soldiers, she appeared to be taking an afternoon stroll. She batted at a mosquito that buzzed around her head, and nodded cordially to a lieutenant seated on one of the cannons posted waist high on the corner guard tower.
"Afternoon, mistress."
She smiled at John Allen, the young man Mary was interested in. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Allen."
Mackenzie swatted at another mosquito, slapping it dead on her shoulder. She peeled the insect off her homespun sleeve and flicked it off her finger. She passed two privates playing cards on the top of an empty ale keg. They nodded. All the while, Mackenzie searched her surroundings for Fire Dancer. His horse was inside the fort walls. Surely he was here somewhere, too.
Mackenzie made the turn on the wall, and headed back toward her room. She hoped her father and the major didn't notice her.
She groaned. Where could Fire Dancer be? Had he gone hunting, or fishing, or just wandered off as he often did?
Then she spotted him and checked to see if the guards were watching her. They weren't. She walked closer to the edge of the jagged wall. "Fire Dancer," she called softly. She glanced away innocently, just in case someone was watching her, then quickly back at him.
Fire Dancer broke off his conversation with another brave, and stared up at her with those black eyes that haunted her dreams.
"Mack-en-zie." His voice was so gentle on the wind that she barely heard him.
"I need to talk to you," she whispered loudly over the side. "Right now."
He said something in Shawnee to the other brave and the brave walked away.
Fire Dancer glanced up at the guard that walked on the palisade, his shadow casting a long, dark line on the grass far below. Fire Dancer's brow creased. "Now, Mack-en-zie? It is important?"
"Now." She stared off into the treetops, trying to appear casual to anyone who watched her. It wouldn't be safe for Fire Dancer to attempt to get inside the fort to her. It made more sense that she go to him. "By the river. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He nodded and walked away, crossing the soldier's shadow.
Mackenzie raced to her room and grabbed her water bucket. Still a third full, she poured the water into her chipped washbasin. From the trunk on the floor, she took the silver snuff box wrapped in red cloth, and shoved it through the slit in her petticoats to the pocket she wore tied to her waist.
Shutting her door quietly behind her, she descended the stairs. Instead of walking out the main door where her father and the major probably still stood, she slipped into the main room where they dined, then out the back door.
Fortunately, Mackenzie found the back gate of the fort open. It had probably been left that way by the soldiers digging the trench around the fort. Casually, she walked out the back gate, swinging the bucket. Long ago she had learned that the best way to get away with something was to pretend it was perfectly normal.
"Afternoon, mistress. Afternoon, ma'am," several soldiers called as she passed. She smiled and dipped a curtsy or two. The men appeared so young and homesick. "Afternoon, gentlemen. It is indeed hot, isn't it?"
" 'Deed is," one replied.
" 'Deed so," the others echoed.
She walked along the trench they were digging, stepping in the loose dirt that had yet to be hauled away. She could smell the rich upturned soil and the scent of burning tobacco. Before she reached the Indian's encampment, she cut left diagonally across the forest toward the stream. She didn't look back over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching her.
Mackenzie was concerned about Mary and the theft. She felt terribly guilty. If Mary hadn't wanted to give her a gift, the Indian woman would never have stolen from Burrow. Mackenzie didn't know what she should have done. Not accepted the snuff box? Should she have understood the Lenape customs well enough to know not to give the earrings to Mary without realizing she would have to return the favor?
All these things went through her mind as she walked deeper into the forest. But she also thought of Fire Dancer. She felt a trill of excitement. She liked the idea of being alone with him out here in his element rather than in the confines of her quarters. She liked the idea of being alone with him in the bright sunlight with no one but the bees and birds to hear and see them.
Mackenzie reached the stream. She saw no sign of anyone and immediately became a little uneasy. If Fire Dancer wasn't here, that meant she was alone and vulnerable again. She was disobeying her father's wishes and ignoring her own good sense. She tried not to think of the Huron who had attacked her or what could have happened. At least she had her dagger with her now. If need be, she could defend herself. She rested her hand on its hilt, fighting her uneasiness.
"Fire Dancer?" Her voice faded away until it was nothing but the breeze and the chirp of a katydid. She climbed up on a flat, brown rock chasing away a spotted lizard. She stared into the swaying trees and watched for any sign of Fire Dancer.
He'll be here any minute, silly goose , she chided herself. There's nothing to be afraid of .
It was cooler here by the stream and she discovered that if she turned her head just right, she could catch the breeze. It felt so good on her face that she closed her eyes for just a second.
"Mack-en-zie? "
She snapped her eyes open, startled. Of course she knew who it was immediately. "Leaping apes in hell!" She threw her arms up in frustration. "You did it to me again. How do you do that?"
Fire Dancer stood no more than a pace from her, staring earnestly into her face. His hands rested casually on his hips. He wore nothing but his fringed leather loin cloth, an open vest, and his moccasins. The only weapon he carried was a knife he wore on his hip. "It is easy, my Mack-en-zie. I walk with the forest, not against it." He held his hand out to her and helped her off the rock. "This man could teach you."
He didn't pull his hand away after she stepped down. Neither did she. Their hands just fell comfortably, their fingers locked as if they always held hands.
A strange electricity leapt between them. Mackenzie always felt it when he was near, but today it was different. It was stronger. She was more aware of her senses; the smell of the mossy river bed; the sound of not one species of bird, but several. All the colors of the forest appeared brighter, the leaves greener, the water more sparkling. And she was more aware of him and her own reaction to him. He had a woodsy scent that clung to him and made her dizzy. He smelled like the open forest, like rain . . . like a man.
"You needed this man?"
Needed him? It sounded so intimate coming from him. "Yes. I . . . I do. I need to tell you something. I . . . I need your help." Reluctantly, she released his warm, firm hand that was the same size as her own. She walked away, putting a little space between them. She couldn't think when he was touching her and she needed to be able to speak coherently.
Then the words just tumbled out. "Mary's done something terrible, Fire Dancer. But she did it for me." Mackenzie turned to face him, and wiped at the silly tears stinging her eyes, embarrassing her. She rarely cried. "I don't want her to be punished because of me. It was all my fault. I vow it was."
He put his arm around her and touched her on her bare forearm. It seemed so natural that he would comfort her. And the quiver of pleasure that leapt inside her when he touched her seemed natural, too.
"Do not have tears, Mack-en-zie." He touched her cheek gently with his thumb, wiping away a tear. "Tell this man, and this man will right the wrong for you, if he can."
She smiled. She had never felt comfortable being vulnerable or weak of spirit around any man, not even her father. But for once it felt good to lift the burden from her shoulders and place it on another's.
"Tell this man," Fire Dancer entreated. "And he will listen."
And Fire Dancer did listen, quietly and without interruption, comment or judgment on Mary or Mackenzie. For that she was grateful. For that, she could have kissed him.
Finished with her confession, she sat down on the rock and watched him pace. She wondered what he was thinking. Why was it taking him so long to say something? Anything. It always took the man so long to speak.
"Mack-en-zie?"
"Yes?"
"Did you bring the trinket?"
She nodded and shoved her hand into her pocket. "Here. It's right here." She offered the silver snuff box still wrapped in the red cloth.
"This man will take it and return it to the lieutenant's possessions." He took the box from her and dropped it into the leather pouch on his belt. "This man will move invisible through the fort. The lieutenant will think his God has returned it."
"I knew you would make it right. I don't want Mary to be punished. No telling what retribution Burrow might take if he knew she took it. I know he'd not understand why she did it." She watched Fire Dancer with eyes that were beginning to somehow see him differently. She felt so emotional today. "You understand why she did it, don't you, Fire Dancer?"
"This man understands." He shifted to stand in front of her. Because he was only an inch or so taller than her, he could look her eye to eye. "But this man is afraid for Mary. She wants to be English so much that she forgets where she comes from. She wants to make a friend in you so much that she would go against the laws of our people."
He was so close that her breath caught. She had this sudden, strong desire to reach out and touch that smooth, bronze chest. "What's the punishment for theft among your people?"
"Thieves are banished. Disowned by their families and their people. A thief must strike out on his own. He cannot live among the People with such shame and dishonor on his face."
"You won't tell will you? Not anyone?" She raised her chin. "Not her brother? He would be so angry with her." Then she did it. She raised her hand and placed it, not on his bare skin—she didn't dare—but on the leather vest.
"This man will not tell the secret, but I must speak to the one who calls herself Mary now. She is as a sister to this man. Raised in my mother's wigwam along with me and my sister and Okonsa."
"You were raised as brother"—her voice twitched as his hand found her waist—"and sister?"
"Ah . Their father was killed in fighting when we were still young. Their mother . . ." He sighed. "This man does not wish to talk of it now."
Mackenzie nodded. She could hear his easy, steady breathing. His hand felt so good on her waist. Other men had tried to touch her like this before, but she'd never wanted them to. Not like she wanted Fire Dancer to hold her now.
Fire Dancer's black-eyed gaze searched hers. "This man would kiss you."
Mackenzie swallowed against her fear and excitement. "This woman would be kissed."
As he tightened his grip on her waist, she let her eyelids fall shut. Mackenzie knew this was insane but she was dying for it. Just one kiss. One taste of the forbidden fruit , she wagered with God, and I'll never do this again .
His mouth moved so slowly toward hers that she had what seemed like seconds to think about it, to anticipate. When his mouth finally touched hers, it was a gentle caress, as if he was testing the waters. She felt none of the awkwardness she'd experienced the few times Joshua had attempted to kiss her.
Without thinking, she pressed her hand to his chest and brushed her fingertips against his bare skin. The heat of his warm skin penetrated her own flesh. His mouth felt so good against hers . . .
With slow, agonizing pleasure, he touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, then her upper lip.
She sighed. Or, heaven forbid, was it a moan? Her heart pounded. He tasted as nothing she had ever tasted before. Was this lust? Was it for this that men fought and ladies died for? She could believe it . . .
To her disappointment, he pulled away.
She opened her eyes. She had thought one kiss would be enough, but it wasn't. It wasn't.
Before she realized what she was doing, she leaned toward him again. She didn't know what made her so bold, but she had to feel his lips against hers just once more. This was it. Her first chance. Her last. Here. Now.
This time when their mouths met there was no hesitation—there was more of an urgency in how he touched her. Both knew this was by mutual consent. Instinctively, she parted her lips. She had never kissed a man open-mouthed before, but she wanted to. She wanted desperately to be possessed by this naked savage . . . and, shamefully, to possess him.
He pushed his tongue into her mouth; she was amazed by the sensation. The taste of him, the feel of his hard chest pressed against her breasts caught her unaware. She had never known it could be like this.
Suddenly her head was spinning. She touched her tongue to his. With one hand still around her waist, he cupped her chin, forcing his mouth against hers with just the right amount of pressure. Mackenzie strained to deepen the kiss, feeling a passion for this man she'd never known existed. She knew it was wrong, even as she explored the cool cavern of his mouth. But it seemed so right, this kissing. Him touching her.
The word love popped up in her head and it was as if a bucket of icy water had been splashed in her face. She pulled away, and stumbled backward, suddenly afraid. More afraid then she'd been the day the Indian had attacked her.
"I . . . I have to go. Someone will realize I'm missing." Mackenzie picked up her skirts and ran toward the fort, ignoring the lilting voice that called her name and tugged at her heartstrings.