“Because of me—”
“Rumors persist that you were kidnapped by the Seminoles, that James McKenzie abducted you from your brother’s house. It is easier for most whites to believe that you were forced away from your father rather than that you ran away from him.”
“Oh, God!” she breathed. “It seems that I have but added to everyone’s misery.”
“You couldn’t have changed anything, Teela. Neither could he have done so. Many of us know James well.
Those of us who do understand. But if you leave this wretched place, it will be best for us all.”
He set the whiskey down, rose, and came behind her. She felt his hands upon her shoulders. “Life is always ironic,” he told her, as if that explained everything. She sat very still. He kissed the top of her head and lingered behind her just a moment.
“Remember, if ever, now or in the future, I can do anything for you, anything at all, don’t hesitate to come back to me.”
His hands left her shoulders. “I’ll pray for you,” he said softly. “You are a good man, too, Joshua. The best of men. I will be praying for you. And I will miss you.” “Go home. Be safe,” he said softly. Then he was gone, and she was left in his office alone, and in the whole of her life she had never hurt so badly. She hurt for Joshua, and for the good captain who had staggered into surgery tonight, scalped and alive. She hurt for the poor men who had served beneath him and met the savage fury of the Seminoles.
She hurt for the Seminoles. For the children with their wide, trusting black eyes …
For the babes she had seen so mercilessly battered, bloodied, and murdered in the woods.
And she hurt for James. But it seemed that there was nothing that she could really do, except watch the slaughter.
Joshua was right; James McKenzie was a part of the war. He would not leave it, could not leave it. He would stay until the bitter end….
And she would do what he had wanted at last. She was going home.
Chapter 18
Despite his better judgment, James had allowed Wildcat to talk him into joining him outside Fort Deliverance when the military commanders hosted their soiree.
They had been there all night. They remained still.
Every time he had come to the makeshift fortress on the hammock with the others, he had assessed the army’s strength. Unlike Wildcat, he was grateful each time to note the thickness of the walls, the multitude of guards. The fort housed numerous soldiers, all of them preparing to ride to battle, of course, just awaiting Jesup’s “pincer” orders, and the words of the spies who came and went, hunting down tribes within hammocks, marshes, and swampland.
From a thick branch of a tall, moss-draped oak, he had watched as the festivities took place. By early evening, a host of soldiers had arrived down the St. Augustine road with a multitude of young beauties. A soldier was not a bad catch for these ladies; just as in all times of war, the male population of the territory dwindled as a crop of courageous young beaus fell in the line of duty. These soldiers might soon perish as well, but the young ladies seemed to have determined one and all that it was better to die a widow than an old maid.
While they observed the party, Wildcat gave him a running commentary on the women, predicting which fair maid would one day be as fat as a house and which would quickly become a shrew. James had paid him scant heed, grunting now and then to pretend he was listening. Despite Wildcat’s casual chatter, he sought any chink in the wood-and-flesh armor of Fort Deliverance while James sat in a cold sweat, hating himself for wanting a glimpse of her while longing to throttle her at the same time. He’d felt as hot and twisted as iron beneath a blacksmith’s hands, damning her for being where she was.
Even what she was.
He’d seen her at last through the poor windows of the commander’s house. Beautifully dressed, her gown hugging her upper body, cinching her waist, flaring at her hips, her sunset hair pinned elegantly high. She’d danced with a tall, older man, staring earnestly at him at first, growing animated as they spoke, even smiling. The twisted feelings inside him had viciously intensified. It was Jesup she’d danced with. General Jesup, in charge of the entire removal operation now for the territory. Not a bad man, one weary of his struggle here. Anxious to let the Seminoles be, unable to do so because he was a military man, a servant of the United States of America who obeyed orders and did his duty.
Wildcat had suddenly motioned to him, wrenching him from his anguish. There had been a thrashing in the brush across the clearing and beneath them, by the walls that surrounded the fort. Wildcat had been ready to leap down from the tree; James had detained him.
A man, bleeding, falling, half dead, had made his way to the gate. His cry was answered. James had just made out his anguished words. “My boys, my boys, my God, my boys! It was Otter, Otter’s men …”
He was taken inside the gate. Through the windows they saw commotion within; the soldier was taken from the commander’s house to the hospital, Joshua Brandeis and Teela close behind.
For long minutes James had strained to see within the hospital, watching as she moved, talked, worked over the soldier. When all was done for the man, she sat, and sat. Shared a drink with Brandeis.
And sat still.
All through the night, he had maintained his vigil in the tree. As the glorious pink and yellow streaks of dawn that could make the land a paradise began to stretch across the heavens, Wildcat shook his arm. “Look!”
The compound suddenly bustled with activity. Soldiers were racing out to a bugle call; men werge mounting up.
Warren was among them.
James stared intently at the scene, trying to see if Teela remained at the hospital. She did. She came out to the wooden walkway in front of the hospital building and watched the activity as well. Her hair was straying from its pins. She wore a white apron decorated with blood.
The bugle sounded again and again. More and more men spilled out into the clearing before the buildings. Horses were led from their hastily built stables.
“He’s leaving with at least two hundred men,” Wildcat commented angrily. “A force we cannot hope to combat with the warriors I could gather.”
James didn’t reply. Wildcat was right.
He watched as the men said good-bye to wives and loved ones mounted up.
He saw Warren ride to his daughter. She stared at him, no expression in her brilliant eyes or weary features. Her fingers wound into the blood stained apron, her only outward sign of agitation.
They didn’t touch; there was no fatherly kiss goodbye, no tear slipped from the daughter’s eye. The slightest curve twisted her Up; she saluted Warren, and Warren rode away at the head of his troops.
James watched with relief as the gate opened, as Teela stood on the walk, watching the soldiers ride out. She wasn’t leaving. She was staying within the fort. She would be safe.
He heard Wildcat swearing at his side. The soldiers were barely gone before Wildcat dropped from the tree.
James didn’t slip down beside him at first. He watched Teela. Joshua Brandeis had come to stand at her side. He slipped an arm around her, leading her back into the makeshift hospital hut. James felt his fingers curling into a branch of the tree. Again the twisting within him. Well? He had told her over and over again to marry Harrington, to get the hell out of the territory.
But she hadn’t left. And now he prayed for her safety. And twisted with the damned awful hunger and wanting and jealousy.
He forced himself to slip to the ground with Wildcat. She was safe for the time being, not riding with Warren.
“I will kill him! I will find a way to kill him!” Wildcat said savagely.
“But not in the fort,” James murmured.
Wildcat looked at him sadly. “Not at the fort.”
They found their horses where they had been tethered deeper in the brush, mounted them bareback, and rode inland. James looked back, shaking off an uneasy feeling. Fort Deliverance stood strong beneath the rising su
n. Still, he would ride far distant from it, he told himself.
He did not accompany Wildcat toward the hammock where Osceola had taken up his temporary residence. He rode to a place deep along a trail by a small lake he had known as a boy. Where pines carpeted the ground. Where, as yet, peace could be found.
And solitude.
From the whites …
From the Seminoles.
And the world torn between them.
Warren had been gone no more than twenty-four hours before Katy sought out Teela in the hospital.
“My dear, General Jesup has given word that you’re to travel out with Captain Mayerling tomorrow. He and his company are riding north to St. Augustine, and there will be a ship there, the Bonne Brianne, to take you straight home to Charleston.”
So soon! Teela thought with a moment’s panic. So soon! She had wanted to go, she reminded herself. Ever since she had seen Otter’s work, she had felt exhausted, weary, unable to keep living on hope. She had wanted to leave this place of death and disease and torment behind.
She had told Joshua she wanted to go, and Joshua had made her feelings known to Jesup. And Jesup was going to explain to both her father and young John Harrington that he had insisted that she leave.
“Oh, Teela, you’ve been such a sweet friend. And I do love you dearly and will just miss you so terribly!” Kathy said, offering her a firm hug. “But, my dear, though some of the men do love you, too, there are those still angry with your sympathies for the enemy. Home will be the best place for you.”
Home. She loved Charleston. Charleston was beautiful. She would always love Charleston.
But it was so far away.
And here …
James was here. Somewhere. The man who didn’t really want her. Her soul was here, her being was here. Watching, waiting, always in a tempest.
She couldn’t go.
She had to go.
“How wonderful,” she told Katy. She tried to smile. Yes, she was going home. Far, far away. Maybe she would see things differently while walking along the Battery, where everything was beautiful and civilized and manicured.
Maybe at home she could nurse her wounded heart and soul. Learn to forget him. She hadn’t heard a word from him, about him, in so very long. He might have even forgotten her name.
“Teela?” Katy asked worriedly.
“Katy, you’re a dear. I’m going to miss you so very much, too. And I will pray for you, daily. I guess I’d best—pack,” she said. She started to hurry from the hospital, then hesitated, turning back. “Mayerling … Captain Mayerling? Isn’t he … ?”
“A tremendous Indian fighter, my dear! He’s taken down entire villages. Indeed, he’s cleared out entire hammocks for the military! A brave and dedicated man. You’ll be safe with him.”
Safe …
Yes, safe. She would pray the ride went swiftly. Mayerling was very much like her stepfather; in fact, he would surely have been her stepfather’s choice as an escort for her. He had indeed killed many Indians. Young ones. Women. His men boasted of their exploits. Other soldiers—even fierce Indian fighters among them—whispered of his brutality.
It didn’t matter. She had made the decision to go. Warren was not here to stop her. She would ride in the morning, be gone by evening’s tide.
James slept without really sleeping, dozed while listening.
In the night he heard the bird’s cry that wasn’t a bird’s cry.
He rose quickly, moving from the hidden shelter of the hootie he had built by the lake. He returned the cry and waited.
A second later, he heard a horse moving through the brush. He strode forward to greet Wildcat.
“I have come thinking myself a fool. Yet a fool who is a friend to one who I believe would give his life for his people, no matter who those people be.”
James nodded, acknowledging the compliment. “What has happened?”
“Within the next hour a party is due to leave from Fort Deliverance. Captain Mayerling will be leading the party.”
Mayerling. Despised among all braves. Otter would surely be moving like the wind if there was any opportunity to reach the man.
“How many in his party?” James asked.
“Two companies. Fifty, sixty men.”
“Otter will massacre them,” James said softly. His heart was cold. The men were doomed. He felt a sense of bereavement and pity, yet one of justice as well. Mayerling deserved death. He collected ears from the infant Indian children he killed. Yet some men would surely travel with him who would not deserve their fate.
“Your red-haired witch is riding with them,” Wildcat said.
James stared at him, cold to the bone.
Then he said no more, racing back to his bay. He hadn’t a single second to spare.
It was difficult to say good-bye to Katy, rnore so to say farewell to Joshua Brandeis. She never realized just how deeply he felt for her until he held her close, a hug good-bye. One that lasted just a few precious seconds too long.
She had never realized, either, just what he meant to her. The pity was that she loved him as a friend. A good friend, a best friend, one she would love for life.
Captain Mayerling was impatient to be under way, his words polite as he urged her to mount up for the ride.
“Dawn’s breakin’, Miss Warren. We’d best be on our way. The men and me will have a long enough ride back with supplies this evening.”
Joshua released her. “You want to come back, you write now, eh?”
“Of course.”
“I shouldn’t allow you to come back. No man in his right mind should allow you to come back. I’m grateful as all hell that you’re leaving.”
She smiled. “Thank you!”
His smile deepened. He kissed her on the forehead, then spun her about, setting her up on her horse, a handsome black cavalry gelding that would be returning that evening along with the men.
The gates to the fort opened. She rode out in the center of the men. They walked their horses in silence. Dreary hour after dreary hour. She closed her eyes. Sweat trickled down her back. The landscape seemed to stretch on endlessly. The silence was heavy and oppressive….
All at once, the most ungodly screeching seemed to tear the very air, ripping apart the silence.
“Attack!” someone shouted.
“Dismount! Battle formation!” Mayerling ordered. The words had barely left his lips when the sound of gunfire exploded around them.
Mayerling fell dead from his horse.
Again gunfire exploded, ricocheting through the air, so loud it was unbearable.
Her horse reared. She fought to steady it. Men leapt down from their mounts, taking shelter behind the trees that lined the road and copse from where the first fire of the ambush had come.
More shouts exploded. War cries whooped out, a cacaphony of voices as the Indians burst upon them. So many of them! Turbaned, bare-headed, most of them half naked, armed with rifles, knives, bows and arrows …
Her horse suddenly went down. Shrieking, Teela slipped free from her mount, rolling before she was crushed. She tried to rise.
And then she saw a brave rushing for her. She had no weapon! She ducked down for a handful of dirt, threw it into his eyes, started to run.
Screams filled the air. She tripped over a body. She shrieked in panic, nearly falling upon a brave in the very act of stripping the scalp from a young, blond, and thankfully dead, soldier.
She turned back. The brave was closing in on her.
“No!” she gasped, racing harder.
A hand fell upon her, spinning her around. She barely saw the man at first. All that she saw was the knife and the trail of crimson blood that dripped in a stream from its razor-honed edge….
The carnage taking place in the copse was horrible. James had seen battle before, more often than he had wanted. He had tasted blood and steel and fear. But these soldiers had already been bested; those who were not dead would die soon, and blessedly. He couldn’t
even spare a thought for those dying such wretched deaths. He could only pray that Teela was not yet among them. As he rode more deeply into the scene of battle, he desperately searched for her.
He saw her across the copse. She’d been backed up to an old, half-fallen cypress tree. She stared up at the knife about to spill her blood, sever her life. She stared at the warrior about to slay her with hot defiance. Her hair streamed in its fiery splendor down her back, her eyes glittered in contempt for her attacker, never defeat. She was white, so very white, and startlingly beautiful here in these bloody surroundings, her features so delicate, chin so high. In those few brief seconds in which he saw her, the whole of his body seemed to constrict and knot with a burning fever. He hated her, wanted her, feared for her. Felt he would die without her, knew he could never have her. Because of this. This carnage. Even if he could save her life, they must never meet again.
The knife was plunging toward her.
Otter. Otter was about to kill her. Otter, who had forgotten his promise.
James reined in his pony and shouted in Otter’s first spoken language, the Hitichi of the Mikasukee. “Otter, stop! By your word! Her death will mean yours!”
Not only did Otter pause in his act of murder, but the whole of the glade seemed to still as James dismounted swiftly, and strode toward Otter. The cries of victory and triumph and massacre went silent.
Teela did not seem to recognize that rescue was at hand. He heard her shout in fury.
“Bastard!”
Otter still had his hands in her hair. She didn’t seem to care. She offered the brave a savage kick against belly and groin.
A good, solid kick. It must have been, because Otter cried out furiously in pain.
Damn her! Whatever influence James might have borne over Otter, he held no more. Otter had already caught her arm and swung her back around. In a matter of seconds Otter’s blood-drenched knife would fall with full force into her heart.
James catapulted across the clearing in the road, heedless of the dead that lay strewn upon the ground between them. There would be no reasoning with Otter; James’s only hope was his superior strength.