Chapter 23
Teela raced into the house, shouting for Jarrett. He didn’t appear, but Tara came flying down the stairs. “Teela! What is it, what’s wrong?”
“They’ve brought a large group of Indians in … to the fort!” She gasped for breath. Hurrying along behind her, John Harrington stood panting, almost doubled over. “James is with him. He’s—in chains!”
Tara stood still, clutching the banister, going very pale. “Where’s Jarrett?” Teela asked.
“He rode out very early; he’s not back yet.”
“Teela,” John said, “he’s going to be safe in the fort, you needn’t be so disturbed. He can’t be going into battle—”
“No, but battle can come to him!” Teela said. “If my stepfather returns—”
“He is on campaign,” John reminded her.
“Campaigns end.”
“But—” John began, but at that moment the door opened and closed behind them. Teela spun around.
Jarrett had returned. He had been out riding. He had come in sober and thoughtful, and looked up to discover the three of them staring at him. Teela rushed to him. “They’ve taken James! They’ve taken your brother! They just marched him into the Castillo.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know!” Teela gasped, horrified. “Then, you must get him out, Jarrett. Surely, you’ve the power—”
“I’ve the power, not the right.”
“What?” Teela demanded, stunned.
“He could have escaped before the prisoners were taken. He chose not to do so. He has made the choice for reasons of his own, and I have sworn not to interfere.”
“But—” Teela protested.
“He is in no danger,” Jarrett said.
“But if my stepfather returns—”
“He has not done so yet.”
Teela approached him, still unwilling to accept that Jarrett wasn’t ready to drag down the heavy walls of the fortress. “There may be some other man—a guard, perhaps, who hates all Indians—”
“Well, he will have plenty to choose from, then.”
“But what if he wants to kill an Indian who he believes has brought about the deaths of many soldiers—”
“Then he would start with Osceola, wouldn’t he?”
“Jarrett, damn it—”
“Teela, my hands are tied. I gave my word. There is nothing I can do. And you underestimate my brother. He is strong, intelligent, and well capable of looking after himself.”
“Jarrett—”
“I have given my word.”
“Well, I have not!” she announced furiously. She spun around, hurrying out of the house. She marched to the small carriage still waiting in the street and climbed into it. By then John had come running from the house behind her. “Teela, wait—”
“I can do this alone,” she said.
“And I can help. I am military, remember?”
She waited. When he sat down beside her, she smiled ruefully and kissed his cheek. “Truly, you are the world’s best friend.”
“Maybe I am the world’s biggest fool. Maybe I think that you will turn to me if something does happen to your magnificent warrior.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Well, I do—and I don’t. Don’t make me maudlin, now. You were in such a hurry, let’s move on!”
She smiled and flicked the reins. A few minutes later, they were in front of the Castillo. John helped her down. There was tremendous confusion around the place, now called Fort Marion. Townspeople still milled around the coquina-shell walls, watching the guards on the walks, curious for every bit of news called down to them, anxious to see another glimpse of the warriors in their splendor.
John managed to usher Teela through the waiting crowds and into an office. John kept explaining that they had come to see a well-known white-Indian, James McKenzie, taken by mistake.
But they met with a sour-faced clerk, a man with iron gray hair and a long, slim face, one side of it scarred from forehead to chin.
He had been writing on a pass when he paused, staring at them both. “No visitors.”
“What?” Teela demanded, rising.
“Your white-Indian is not so innocent.”
“How dare you—” Teela began.
“He’s guilty of murder and kidnapping.”
“That’s one hell of a lie—”
“Teela!” John gasped in warning. All right, so she shouldn’t have cursed. She’d lived in a military fort too long, in the wilderness too long, and it just didn’t seem to matter to her too much anymore what young women should and shouldn’t say. But this soldier would think her ill-bred. Actually, she was dying to tell him that he belonged in hell—she even wanted to tell him what to do with himself before he went there—but she managed to restrain her tongue. “James McKenzie is innocent of any such charges. I am the woman he supposedly kidnapped, and I can swear to you—on a dozen Bibles, if you so choose!—that he did no such thing. I was also a witness to the massacre—”
“So you watched him kill people?”
“You pompous ass!” Teela hissed.
“No visitors. The Indian Running Bear clears himself by witness of the surviving soldiers, and that’s that!”
“You think that’s that!” Teela cried. “Just you wait! I’ll create such a stink about what you’ve done here today that—”
“Teela?” John interrupted.
“Just a minute, John. Now, you pay me heed—”
“Teela!” John insisted.
She stopped, staring at him. He caught her by an arm, pulled her close, and whispered softly. “His name is Clarence Higgens. He has ridden with your father and been attacked by Osceola’s band, and barely survived to tell the tale. We must retreat for now.”
“I will find someone to overrule you, soldier,” Teela stated coldly, ready to quit for the time being, but never to give up her fight.
The scarred Lieutenant Higgens stared at her. “I can send into the interior for your father if you wish?” he taunted.
Teela did tell him then that he could go straight to hell. John started to urge her out, but just as they were leaving the outer passage, she saw old Riley being escorted along by a young sergeant. “Riley!” she cried. “I’ve being trying to see James. I—”
She broke off because Riley was shaking his head. He lowered his voice. “Don’t see James.”
“But—”
“Miss, don’t see James.” He lowered his voice, trying to take care not to be heard by anyone other than her. “Give him time. He would tear your heart out. Stay far away.”
“What? Why?”
“He is betrayed.”
“By the military!”
“And you. Please, don’t try to see him. You will bring more trouble down on everyone.”
Riley hurried on by her with the soldier. Teela felt her eyes stinging.
Good God, what in heaven was the man talking about? She quickly blinked against her tears. James was a royal bastard, and that was that. He’d said that he was done playing.
And he meant it.
“Teela—?” John began.
“Let’s go.”
She drove the carriage back to the house in silence. When they reached the front, she leapt down, anxious to reach her room.
“Teela, we can still manage to see James—”
“James can rot for all I care!” she assured him, and ran up to her room as quickly as possible.
Their conditions of capture were not so cruel. Captain Morrison, in charge of their imprisonment at Fort Marion, allowed the Indians free movement within the walls of the fort. The only difficulty was that there were so many imprisoned, the “necessary” stations built directly into their cavernous cells were not nearly enough, and fever caught and spread quickly.
The good was that they were all fed. Osceola sent out for his wives and children, and some of the other warriors sent for their families as well. Many of the children came in looking beyond t
he point of help, but they were hardy little creatures and ate hungrily all that was given them.
James had asked Jarrett not to interfere. He knew that it was probably tearing at his brother to do something about his situation, but he chose to wait. He was in no danger while in the camp. He saw many friends among the military who assured him that Warren was still in the field, determined on his own brand of warfare. A Dr. Weedon, who was beginning to spend a tremendous amount of time at the fort treating the Indians, had come to meet James, specifically interested in him. It was through Weedon that James learned that two of the soldiers who had been with Teela’s escort when Otter attacked had been recuperating from wounds all the way over at Fort Brooke, Tampa Bay. Hernandez had sent for the men, determined to have them clear James.
He intended to be cleared.
James was seated against the stone wall of one of the large rooms within the fort. Wildcat approached him, sinking down beside him. “The white captain has said that you and I are invited to a party in St. Augustine. We are to be released under escort to go. I imagine you are invited because you are sometimes one of them. I am invited because I am Wildcat, Coacoochee, and they want to look at me.”
James smiled. Wildcat was right. The whites wanted to see him. He had earned himself quite a reputation. Despite the scratches on his face—or perhaps even partly because of them—he was a handsome man, young, with incredibly deep, arresting eyes. He was so swift that he had often been able to stop when soldiers were in pursuit of him during battle, laugh at them, and take flight again, disappearing, perhaps to ambush the same soldiers just minutes later. He was the type of Seminole that appealed to the romance of the public, a true “savage” in their minds, yet somehow as well a wild prince of the forest.
“They want to see me,” Wildcat repeated. “I want to see them.”
“My friend, you go. I have no heart for a party.”
“Running Bear, you must come. I’m not sure I will still be invited and let out if you do not attend.”
“Wildcat, half these people merely wish to gape at us.”
“Then they shall gape. I am as curious about them as they are about me. I wish to go. I beg of you, attend with me. Let me know what they are saying about me.”
“Wildcat—”
“Perhaps your woman will be there.”
The very words set his insides burning again. He had wanted to shriek at the sight of her on Harrington’s arm, roar like thunder.
She would be there. He could talk to her. Find out the truth. But he didn’t want to talk, he wanted to shout and shake her. Thoughts of her had plagued him through the long days and endless nights. And the more he thought about, the more doubt slipped in to taunt him. She had been so damned obviously rounded in the month since he had seen her. He was not mistaken. He was already the father of two children and well aware that a woman did not change so in the course of weeks. So she had very definitely been expecting the babe before.
Since when?
The question seemed to scratch into his heart every time he breathed. He could remember himself talking to her that day in the river. Have you ever made love in the water? And she had been angry. You would know. You would know …
But she had been away from him a long time before then. Endless days, nights, weeks, when they hadn’t spoken. He relived their entire relationship in haunted silence, staring at the walls of the fort in his endless hours of captivity.
She had run away from Warren, escaped into the woods. But then she had ridden from his family’s ghost village with John Harrington. Pretended an engagement with him. James had next seen her in the thick of battle, with Joshua Brandeis. They’d had a night. One night. But then he’d gone back to the interior, and she’d ridden with the military. Been with Tyler and Brandeis, in her own society, with men who killed Seminoles for their livelihoods. She’d lived at Fort Deliverance. Laughed with the soldiers, danced with the soldiers, treated the soldiers.
Until she’d come to him.
And she’d not said a damned word to him about a child!
Nor had she made the least attempt to see him since he had come here.
Had she decided to attach herself to Harrington in truth? Had she done so for a reason? Had there actually been something between the two of them other than the feigned engagement? Had there been someone else in her life? A deeper involvement with Joshua Brandeis, the physician she admired so much?
She had definitely turned her back on him since he had come here. Perhaps it was just the stigma of who he was, what he was. She had seen him marched into the fort, a prisoner. A Seminole prisoner. A renegade, an outcast.
Damn her.
He had to see her, talk to her—even if he did yell at her. He had to end the constant torture he heaped upon himself, penned and staring at the walls.
“All right. I will attend,” he told Wildcat.
Wildcat smiled, pleased. “The food will be very good, I imagine. I will taste everything and remember it all when I fight again.”
James wondered if Wildcat would ever have the chance to fight again. He refrained from saying so out loud, but Wildcat must have sensed his thoughts. “I am the son of King Philip, a mico of the Mikasukee. My mother is the sister of Micanopy, a mico of the Alachua band. I am a born leader, James. Sometimes Osceola has mocked me. He has considered himself the best leader, and he has brought us to glory and victory at times. He has said that I am good to send out to raid small parties, while he has battled the greatest generals. You will see. My time is nearly here. I will not remain a prisoner, I swear it.”
“Perhaps you will not.”
“I will have you escape with me.”
James hesitated. “I came in to be with Osceola.”
“Well and good,” Wildcat warned, “but you never know when you will need to escape.” Wildcat left him where he had found him.
Dr. Weedon found him later that same day and asked him to walk with him. James had never felt more thoroughly studied and examined in all his days. The doctor was a man of medium height and coloring, mild in his manner, not young yet certainly not yet old. He had an attractive wife and young children who sometimes came to the fort, but since there had been another outbreak of measles, the children had stayed away. “Osceola is very sick,” he told James.
“I know.”
“It is difficult for me to treat him. He lets his tribal medicine men rule him.”
James shrugged. “It is his way.”
“He is an interesting fellow,” Weedon said. “Fascinating, really. I love to watch his movements when he speaks, listen to his voice. He has humor and warmth. Of course, he is completely uncivilized. Any type of formal education would have been entirely wasted on the man, but I do find myself in deep sympathy with him.”
James stopped walking and stared at the doctor. “How curious, sir. I’ve had every manner of formal education offered me. I remember rebelling often enough against lessons as a child, but in retrospect, I can’t think of a wasted moment.”
“You, sir, are half white. You’ve lived among civilized people. There is a difference.”
“Is there?” James arched a brow at him. “Osceola, Billy Powell, as many call him, has white blood as well.”
“There is a difference,” Dr. Weedon said firmly. “But I beg you, if you’ve any influence with him, see if you cannot manage to let me examine him and treat him.”
James nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He should have appreciated that Weedon did feel such sympathy for the “savage.” He found instead that he was furious to realize that the good doctor considered himself a better man with a greater capacity for learning— because of the color of his skin.
Tara walked into Teela’s room, smiling. “I have a surprise.”
Teela, staring at the flames burning in her fireplace, looked at Tara curiously. Her host and hostess tried so very hard to make her happy. Especially in such a tense time, and despite the fact that she had been feeling extremely confused a
bout James since the day she had gone to the fort. Jarrett, she knew, was wrapped in his own turmoil regarding the situation. He had promised James that he would not interfere, and he would not do so.
James had contacted Jarrett, but only with a brief letter to say that he was well and ask that his brother convey his love to his daughter.
Not a word had been said about her.
Teela clamped her hands together in her lap, her anger reawakened. He’d stared at her with such fury, and then Riley’s words had been like the final nail in the coffin. She couldn’t forget the way he had looked at her. As if Riley had been right, and James would just as soon rip her heart out as say hello. He had told her when he left her that he was done with her. Well, he couldn’t be. Like it or not, he couldn’t be.
But why was he so furious? Because she had remained here? Or because she had seen him brought in as a prisoner when he was such a proud man?
Had he somehow realized that she was expecting a child? Was he angry because of it, as if it was something she had planned to make his life more miserable?
She felt well. Better than she had felt since she had first set foot in the territory. She was never sick in the mornings anymore—if she suffered at alL it was because she felt like such an idiot for not realizing her condition. Sometimes she didn’t even care what James’s reaction would be. There were moments when she was so happy and thrilled over what was surely only nature but seemed like a miracle that nothing else in the world mattered. She couldn’t wait to see the baby. She would love it with all the strength and intensity within her.
Every once in a while she did pause to fear what Michael Warren might do if he discovered the truth. Sometimes she even thought that Tara and Jarrett were right, that she should get away and protect the babe from Warren. She could go to Jarrett’s mother’s family in Charleston—close to her own home but, she hoped, just far enough away. In May she would reach her own majority, when Michael Warren could no longer force her to do anything.
She had seriously considered leaving when she had first come to St. Augustine, but then the prisoners had been brought to the Castillo.
And he had looked at her.