Sweetbriar Read online

  He shook his head at her. “My name’s Devon Macalister, but I’ve always been called Mac.”

  “I thank you for the water and the company, Mr. Macalister.”

  “Not Mr. Macalister, just plain Mac!” The girl was making him angry. “Look, I didn’t mean…” He stopped as he heard a step just outside the low doorway.

  “You must go,” she whispered. “I don’t think they will like finding you here.”

  He looked at her again in astonishment and left the shelter.

  Mac walked alone into the woods. She was the strangest girl he’d ever met, and in spite of what Crazy Bear said, he could only think of her as a girl. The Indians talked about her courage on the trail, how she’d carried the youngest child most of the way. Mac had seen the boy and he was certainly no light burden.

  How calm she’d been! Last time he’d seen a girl in her situation, the girl’d been hysterical. He’d tried to help her, too, but she’d screamed so loud, he’d hardly escaped being found out. He didn’t like to remember what these men were like when they’d had too much whiskey. The last girl had bled to death.

  He thought of the girl who waited so patiently in the shelter now. Instead of screaming, she’d asked him about the others and thanked him, as if they’d been sitting in some rich woman’s fancy parlor.

  He remembered her big, luminous eyes and wondered what color they were, remembered holding her little hand in his. Damn! he thought, then sighed in resignation. He’d probably just declared his own death.

  He saw her again when he reentered the shelter. She was sitting quietly, hands folded in her lap.

  “Why, Mr. Macalister, I don’t think you should be here again.”

  He grinned, white teeth showing, and shook his head at her. “Tell me, can you read?”

  “Why, yes, certainly.”

  “If I take you away from here, would you teach me to read?”

  “Of course,” she whispered and her trembling voice betrayed how frightened she really was.

  His admiration for her increased. “All right then, try to stay calm. It will take me a while and then I might not win.”

  “Win? What do you mean?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me. Now try and sleep, nothing will happen before morning. But tomorrow, just be silent and trust me. Will you do that?”

  “I will, Mr. Macalister.”

  “Not Mr. Macalister!”

  She gave him a weak smile. “I will trust you…Devon.”

  He started to protest but knew it would be useless. “I’m sure this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up soon. You are truly the beatinest woman I have ever seen.” He gave her one last look and left.

  Linnet could not sleep. She had resigned herself to whatever the future held for her, but now this big man had given her new hope, and she almost wished he hadn’t. It was easier before. Dawn came, and one of the Indian women entered the shelter and motioned for Linnet to follow her, pinching her several times.

  Other women waited for them outside, laughing, hitting her when her wobbly knees threatened to collapse. They half-dragged her to a tree and pulled her arms to the back of it, tying them securely. There was no sign of the children anywhere.

  Two Indian men walked toward her, each clad in the small breech cloth, their bodies lightly oiled. Her eyes were drawn to the taller man with the blue eyes, and she saw Devon clearly for the first time. He walked solidly, as if completely assured of his place on the earth, the lean muscles of his body playing under his dark skin.

  Devon was also seeing the woman he was about to risk his life for and he was not so well pleased. Her delicate features were distorted by a swollen cheek, deep hollows under her eyes, and her skin and hair reeked of rancid bear grease. But the eyes that looked up at him were clear and oddly colored, like mahogany.

  Before he could reach her, one of the women tore her shirt away, revealing Linnet’s breasts and the girl bent her head forward in an effort to cover herself. She knew Devon stood before her and she made a great effort to look at him. She looked instead to the woman beside her, laughing and pointing from Devon to Linnet.

  She looked toward his face then, saw he nodded at the laughing woman before meeting Linnet’s eyes. She immediately felt her strength returning, as if it flowed from him to her.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he said as he put his hand on her shoulder. “The Indians already talk of your courage.” He moved his hand downward, and she was startled when he cupped her breast, her breath catching in her throat, but his eyes never left hers.

  His hand left her body and he grinned at her. “I hope you clean up better than you are now. I don’t think I could stand a teacher that smells like you do.”

  She managed a slight smile, but his hand on her body had stunned her, as much from her reaction to it as anything else.

  He pulled Linnet’s shirt together, nodded to the old woman, and walked away to stand beside the other Indian. The woman cackled and pointed from Linnet to the Indian but his eyes were angry, and he spat on the ground at Linnet’s feet, turning his back to her.

  Linnet still wasn’t sure what was to happen until the two men faced one another in the grassy clearing before her. A piece of rawhide was tied to their ankles so that they were never more than a yard apart. Linnet drew her breath in sharply when they were each given a knife.

  They circled one another, and a knife flashed in the sun as the Indian drew first blood, cutting Devon’s arm from shoulder to elbow. The man didn’t seem to notice the cut, but quickly grazed the Indian’s stomach with his own knife.

  Linnet watched the animal grace, the strength of the man who risked his life for her. He was neither a white man nor an Indian, but a combination of the white’s cunning and the Indian’s oneness with nature.

  Devon slashed the man’s shoulder, barely missing the vulnerable neck, all the while his left arm dripping blood onto the thick grass. The Indian lunged and Devon sidestepped, jerking his foot back sharply. They both sprawled in the grass, rolling together. Both knives disappeared between their bodies, Devon on bottom, then they stopped, neither moving.

  There was a hush in the camp; even in the forest, the stillness seemed to penetrate. Linnet didn’t dare breathe and wondered if her heart still beat.

  The Indian moved, and she could feel the triumph of the women near her. It seemed ages before the Indian was gone from Devon’s body, and she had trouble realizing that Devon had thrown the other man’s lifeless body off. She watched, still unbelieving, as Devon cut the rope about his ankle, sprang to his feet and came to her. He cut the leather binding her wrists and freed her.

  “Follow me,” he said in a cold, steely voice.

  She clutched her buttonless shirt together and used all the strength she could muster to keep up with his rapid pace. He practically threw her onto the saddle of a big sorrel and mounted behind her in one fluid motion. His arms encircled her; one took the reins, the other held her waist. She tried to see the bloody cut on his arm, glad it was not too deep.

  They rode hard, as hard as the horse could stand carrying two people and Linnet sat as straight as possible, trying not to add an extra burden to the man behind her. They came to a stream when it was well past noon and finally stopped. He lifted her from the horse and set her to the ground as she tied the tails of the shirt across her stomach.

  “You think they’re following us?”

  He bent over the stream and splashed cold water on his arm. “I’m not sure, but I’d rather not take the chance. These aren’t like a tribe of Indians, they have no honor. If the Shawnee made a bargain, they’d keep it, but not these men. At least, I’m not certain of them.”

  “Here, I’ll do that.” She tore away half of her petticoat and dipped it in the water, then began washing his wound. As she bound it, she looked up at him, and only then did she realize he was looking at her breasts, at the shirt pulled tight in a knot, bare skin showing from throat to the top of her stomach. Instinctively, she clutched it toget