Black Eagle Page 5

  “Your grandmother requests that you travel north to the Queen’s Land, even though the way there is through enemy ground and is dangerous.”

  Black Eagle met this news calmly enough, and after a moment, he inquired, “And the reason she asks this?”

  “It is said that our brothers, who followed the black robes into the Queen’s North, have joined forces with the French and are fighting against us, brother to brother, since we who remain here have sided with the English and stand with them.”

  Black Eagle’s brows drew together in a grimace. “Is my grandmother certain of this?”

  “It is the news we received from the north.”

  Black Eagle barely acknowledged these words, although the idea that such discord might be occurring was startling. “Have any of our brothers fallen in battle from our own hand?”

  “I do not know.”

  Black Eagle hesitated while he gathered his thoughts and reined in his alarm. “My grandmother was wise to send you to me. This is, indeed, a terrible danger. Brother against brother. If this be true, it would create a black mark upon us that would follow us into the future. Is there more to the message?”

  “She asks me to tell you to go to the Black Robes who have taken our people there and beg them to bring our people back here to our ancestral home. We must stand united as a people and let the French and English fight their own war.”

  Black Eagle nodded. “The way is long and through the land of the enemy, the Abenaki, but tell her I will go there. I will talk with the Black Robes.”

  “She asks also that you bring your brother, Gray Fox, home, for she fears that if he remains long at the village of Kahnawake in the North, that he too will become an ally to the French, while you remain loyal to the English. She does not wish to see your family split because of different allegiances to these aliens in our land.”

  “As always, she is wise. Tell her that it will be done. And now, let us meet with tradition and find refreshment for you.”

  The youth nodded.

  The youthful runner, properly rejuvenated, was already gone, bearing a return message for Black Eagle’s grandmother. Of course, Black Eagle would go as requested, but the journey might require some thought as to the best way to arrive with his scalp still intact, since the quickest way north was through the territory of the Abenaki.

  As he stood within the marketplace, he caught an engaging sight from out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head in that direction. It was she, the beauty he had so recently admired. He gazed at her, and although he knew he should return his attention to the task at hand, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her. Not yet.

  At present, she was strolling through the marketplace, arm in arm with another woman, who was almost, but not quite, as pretty as she.

  The two women added to the symmetry of the landscape, and Black Eagle noticed that they were drawing the eye of many a fine young man. That none of those men solicited the women’s attention seemed unnatural to Black Eagle, especially when such pleasure could be drawn from a mere conversation with the object of one’s adoration.

  He wondered, was the Englishman too busy with his own business to indulge in more than a passing glance? Or was the reason something else? Were the white women too heavily guarded by their relatives, that one dare not approach?

  Most likely it was this last, since no man in his right mind would ignore the opportunity to indulge a moment’s pleasure. That this also included him did not escape his notice. Crossing his arms over his chest, Black Eagle leaned back against a wooden post, that he might let his gaze roam leisurely over the beauty’s figure.

  She was small, although perhaps it was her waist that made her appear so, since it looked to be uncannily petite. A green ribbon, placed strategically at her breast, brought emphasis there, although the beauty of her face was not paralleled. Her soft, green dress flowed over her curvy figure, and her reddish-golden hair was caught up in an ivory-colored net in back. A straw hat, complete with another green ribbon tied around it, decorated her head. Although he couldn’t see them from here, he knew her eyes to be a golden brown, and from within their depths a smile could be coaxed.

  Once again, the desire to tease the beauty, to witness her smile and to feel her response, overrode the need for urgent planning his impending journey required. He had come away from the post where he had been lingering, deep in thought, and had already taken a step forward, when he stopped short. Something was preventing him from proceeding any farther.

  “Did ye hear me, boy?”

  Black Eagle looked down at the hand that had taken possession of his own arm. Following that hand up to its owner, Black Eagle grimaced. Where had this man come from? Had he been so out of touch with the environment around him that such a man could sneak up on him?

  It should not have been. Especially since the man’s stench alone should have alerted Black Eagle to his presence. Ah, what a woman could do.

  “I have spoken to several Indians this day,” said the man whose breath seemed to be worse than his general odor, “and I have discovered from each, in turn, that ye is the best guide to be had in this country. I be goin’ to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, into Abenaki territory, and I have need to hire me a damn good scout, since I intend to keep me scalp. What say ye?”

  Black Eagle didn’t even deign to answer. Instead, he gazed again at the place where he had last seen the beauty. He exhaled. She was gone.

  Disgruntled, he turned his attention to the man who was so demanding of it. “I am not interested in scouting for you. Seek out someone else.”

  “But ye havena even heard how much coinage I aim to be paying ye.”

  Black Eagle had already made his decision. He disengaged his arm from the other man’s hold.

  “Now see here, ye young savage…”

  Black Eagle turned, presenting his back to the man, and made to step away, when the brute, who must have been speaking to himself, said, “I reckon I’ll have to tell Miss Marisa that we be delayed yet again.”

  Black Eagle paused. Miss Marisa? Had the beast’s tongue actually spoken the name of the beauty?

  Black Eagle turned back. Looking askance at the man, he said, “Miss Marisa? Will there be others traveling with you into Abenaki territory then?”

  “Aye. Havena ye been listening to me? I’ll be escorting Miss Marisa and her maid to the northeast, toward the sea. But I’ll be needing a guide to ensure our safe passage. I’m willin’ to pay ye well.”

  Black Eagle glanced in the direction where he had last seen the enchantress, but as before, her figure was not to be witnessed. However, it mattered little. Her image was imprinted on the very recesses of his mind.

  To be certain it was the same person they were both speaking about, Black Eagle questioned, “The one you mentioned, Miss Marisa, and her maid? Who exactly are they?”

  “They are financier John Rathburn’s niece and her companion. Why be ye asking?”

  Black Eagle didn’t deem it worthy to answer such a question. Instead he asked, “Have you a map of your destination so I might determine where it is and estimate the danger involved?”

  “I do. I have it with me here.” The brute reached into the dirty inner workings of his leather coat. From there, he extracted a sheet of parchment, which he extended toward Black Eagle.

  Black Eagle nodded, accepting the document from the man. Briefly, he unrolled the paper and scanned the markings on the map. “What you say is true. Your journey will encroach upon Abenaki territory, and as anyone here will know, they can be a fearsome foe.”

  “Aye. Can ye escort us through there without a cost to life?”

  “I might. Are the women aware that the countryside is at war? That the journey there might be dangerous for them?”

  “That they are. Ye’ll do it, then?”

  Black Eagle hesitated. True, he was p
lanning a path through Abenaki country, but to travel east was out of his way. Still, it would require little more than a few weeks to guide Miss Marisa and ensure her safety. Perhaps…

  No, a voice within him warned. There was danger here. Not only from the Abenaki, but such a journey could be perilous to his heart.

  He should walk away. He should ignore the longing to learn more about the beauty; he should resist the impulse to be close to her. He was already enchanted by her. What would happen to his heart if he allowed more contact with her? For he could never do more than admire.

  Yet how could he walk away? She would be defenseless against the Abenaki, and now that he knew Miss Marisa, could he stand aside as she put her life into danger?

  “What say ye?”

  Black Eagle straightened and nodded his assent. “I will. When do you plan to leave?”

  “In the next few days. Can ye be ready?”

  “I am ready now.”

  “Good.” Thompson grinned. “Good.”

  Chapter Four

  Music from the violins, violas and a violoncello, along with the delightful strains of a high-pitched flute, filtered into the Rathburn stables where Black Eagle was preparing the three horses—two roans and a dapple gray—for their journey. Checking over their cinches to ensure the leather was strong, Black Eagle was a stern critic, his eye catching what another might miss.

  He frowned; something was not right. It looked as if… He pulled hard against one of the cinches, and the leather fell apart in his hand. Hunh-uh! He stared at the straps, dumbfounded. Then he picked up another cinch, making the same experiment, then the third.

  Each one was damaged in its own way, and as he studied them, he could only surmise that they had been broken at one time, then sewn and glued back together so cleverly that the error remained undetectable. Was the white man so negligent, so unaware, that he hadn’t seen this?

  Or was there another reason for what should have been a simple repair? Certainly the white man could not be so frugal that he could ill afford the best straps available.

  He examined the bits of leather, noting that the cuts were not clean, which would make it appear that the damage was due to simple wear. But on all three?

  Was it possible that the animals were not regularly used, so that the fault had remained undetectable until now? Maybe. However, Black Eagle’s frown deepened.

  As he laid the damaged cinches aside, Black Eagle’s thoughts raced, although outwardly he set himself to mindless work. Picking up a brush, he began the long process of scrubbing the animals down for the night.

  One thing was certain: New cinches would be secured or the horses would stay behind. Either way it mattered little to him, particularly since, from the start, Black Eagle had not been in favor of taking horses. Although it was true that a horse could run faster than a man, the animal could not travel as far as a man in the course of a day, mainly because of the necessity to rest every few hours. Plus, the animal was easy to track, required too much care along the way and announced their position to any enemy.

  But, when the Englishman had insisted that their women could not walk the entire journey and that their things had to be transported with them, Black Eagle had given little resistance. It wasn’t part of his plan to negate the judgment of the English. Besides, a few extra days, in the course of weeks, was not worth the argument. And though there might be other reasons why he wasn’t averse to plodding a slightly slower journey, he dare not look at them too closely.

  Again the strains of the music from the big house trickled into the livery, and Black Eagle fought a desire to be there, to watch the beauty and mayhap if he were lucky, to speak to her again. But he would not do it. Not because of the peculiarities of the English dances, since he was well acquainted with these. Nor was it fear of criticism from the Englishman’s condescending eye. Rather it was because her image haunted him.

  He was fascinated with her, and, although he knew it to be very wrong, he felt he might be in danger of becoming too enamored with her; this at a time when his people depended on him. So, although he might admire the young lady, might watch her with longing, he was well aware that when it came to matters of love, his heart must be guarded.

  Still, as a delicate melody swept into the stable, filling each nook and cranny with the pulse of the English dance, he could little ignore it. The music was in three-quarter time, and the rhythm affected him in a way he would never have suspected it might. Unbidden, a desire to be there, to see her, to learn more about her, entered his breast, and he could have sworn his heart ached.

  Firmly, he set the matter of the beauty from his mind, but not so the cinches. He would go in search of Thompson and make his demands.

  As he finished rubbing down the last of the three animals, he sniffed at the air around him. Was it the stables, or did he reek of horseflesh?

  A stream deep in the forest that skirted the Rathburn property offered a simple and easy solution, and he washed up there, donning the best clothing he had. After all, Thompson might be at the ball.

  His other clothing he washed in the stream, hanging them in a hollowed-out cavity in a tree. It was a very old and large tree, one he had taken special notice of as he had scouted the Rathburn property.

  As he stepped toward the big house, an airy melody washed over him, and Black Eagle sighed, reminding himself he was not attending the ball, he was looking for Thompson. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of the yearning of his heart.

  As Marisa stepped with her partner in time to the music, she hid a smile. She was happy. Not for herself, of course, but for Sarah. Indeed, Marisa had succeeded; she had bested her step-uncle in a battle of wills. True, it had been a test of spirit, but she had persisted, had made it perfectly clear to her step-uncle that he was in the wrong, not only in regards to his future plans for a particular Pennsylvania Dutch settlement, but also as concerned Sarah’s past.

  She felt proud of herself. At the mere mention of wrongdoing, he had capitulated. In truth, it had been so easy, she wondered why she had never resorted to confrontation before.

  This ball, which Rathburn had arranged in honor of Sarah and Marisa’s departure, proved her success. Undoubtedly, the ball was a simple affair in many ways. Necessity had made it so, due in part to the fact that both she and Sarah were leaving forthwith—the very next morning. Though there were probably no more than fifty guests in attendance this evening, no expense had been spared. Strategically placed torches and candles lit the room, while the scent of burning wax and food—roast meat and freshly baked bread, cakes and pies—permeated the hall.

  Gentlemen and ladies had adorned themselves in their best, causing the interior of the room to be awash in pink and coral silks, as well as the hues of blue and gold. White wigs, with the required two curls at each side of the face, covered the natural color of the hair. The orchestra was a simple affair, as well—a few instruments from the violin family and a flute.

  Their music filled the hall now, lending the atmosphere a certain gaiety and rhythm that kept the guests stepping around the floor to the music of a minuet—sweep, step, step, sweep, step, step, promenade forward, turn to face one another, step up, step back, bow, curtsy.

  Her partner coughed, and Marisa smiled at the gentleman whom she had favored with the dance. The young man, who was of medium height, with a wave of sandy hair that peeked out beneath his wig, was most likely the handsomest man in the room tonight. But though he smiled at her adoringly, Marisa was not so easily impressed. She did smile back at him kindly, but she knew she would never lose her cautious heart to him.

  For years she had resolved that she would never marry. Though there were young men of whom she was fond, her affections had never progressed further than mere attraction. She had made it be so.

  After all, what need had she of a man or of marriage? When she reached her majority, she would be heiress to the consider
able financial trust left to her by her parents, be she married or not. And since most men were obsessed with…

  Marisa frowned. What were most men concerned with in this life? Position, wealth, fame? Further, why did men generally wish to marry? Was it to control another human being? Marisa thought it might be so.

  Strangely, the young women of Marisa’s acquaintance were preoccupied with the ideas of marriage, of children and of stability, and for reasons that Marisa could little understand. It seemed to Marisa that the idea of marriage was hardly more than careful dogma spread about, and to her, the idea of being beholden to any man after she reached the age of majority was abhorrent.

  But why, she wondered. Was she simply hardhearted toward the male of the species? Did she have reason to be?

  As if asking the question brought on the memory, a recollection, long looked for but much forgotten, flashed in her mind. For a moment, she was distracted. She trembled and daintily smiled at her partner to offset a feeling of being ill at ease. But like a book that, once opened, refused to be closed, her mind replayed a scene from her past.

  Marisa had been a shy child of seven years of age when John Rathburn had summoned her to his study. Expecting the best of such a beckoning, Marisa had been overjoyed. Perhaps, after three long years of living within the Rathburn household, Marisa’s step-uncle was at last ready to lavish her with the love Marisa craved.

  Sarah had ensured that Marisa looked the epitome of fashion, in her sack dress of ivory silk, adorned with the white of her petticoat, which was, in giving with the current style, displayed in front. True, she had still worn the back-fastened bodice, so common for her age, but this dress was her best, and it gave her confidence. As the butler had ushered her into the Rathburn inner sanctum, the lace edging of Marisa’s cap had fluttered delicately around her face, making her feel feminine and pretty.

  The scent of mildew was the first detail she recalled, then came the memory of the room itself, which was lined wall to wall with books. At first her gaze had settled on her step-uncle, who could have been the embodiment of British conservatism in his white-powdered wig and black, tailored coat. Her step-uncle had always appeared to her to be a cold, foreboding and condemning sort of man, and on this day it was no different. However, there was an extra appearance of bitterness about him at this moment. Indeed, there had been an expression of disdain so great it had set her knees to trembling.