AT FIRST SIGHT: A Novella(28)
He doubted she understood him, but at the mention of Peminacka her head bobbed like a puppet’s, and she grinned as if dinner had just been served up.
At once, he and Evangeline were ushered to one of the domed structures. She dropped near the fire pit, her legs tucked beneath her, one arm barely supporting her, and mumbled, “Ask for Rasannock.”
Shortly, the heavyset old squaw returned with pemmican and wooden bowls of mush that could have been duck feet and field mice’ carcasses, for all he knew. But eat he and Evangeline must. “Rasannock,” he told the squaw, while nudging pemmican bites between Evangeline’s unresisting lips.
Only when a handsome Indian male pushed aside the deer hide flap and swaggered inside did she perk up, her smile quick and warm. “Rasannock,” she breathed, her small frame coming alive, and Adam felt rankled by foolish jealousy over the animated affection the young man elicited from her.
The Indian’s dusky face lighted with warmth. “It is you!” He plopped down beside her, totaling ignoring Adam. “What of Gantu and Bonnie Charlie?”
So, this was the sachem’s nephew who lived with her and the other two. Astonishingly, Rasannock wore a woman’s red hooded, fur-lined cape over his buckskin shirt and leggings.
“I know naught of Gantu,” she sighed heavily. “The last we saw of Bonnie Charlie, he was holding off the Swede’s Mingo scout and five militiamen who were pursuing us.” She clasped the man’s swarthy hands between hers. “Robbie – he fares well, Rasannock?”
The young man’s expression grew uneasy. “That the baby does. But my uncle, he mourns his daughter. He grieves bad. He may speak with you in the morning. After you have rested.”
Adam found himself wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders and was immediately disgusted with his possessiveness – a perverse possessive pleasure. “We come in peace. I represent the English’s Great Father across the ocean. Tell your uncle then we await him tomorrow morning.”
The Indian nodded and soft as an evening breeze stole away. But later, the squaw rejoined them and sat in placid silence, watching. Adam learned she was the sachem’s mother-in-law.
Evangeline gave over to his embrace, cuddling her and him within a smelly, scratchy Indian blanket. His saddlebags served as their pillow. Beyond ordinary fatigue, she fell instantly asleep. With the deepening night, the squaw also fell asleep, snoring louder and louder. He lay awake, going over the morrow’s possible ramifications.
If Bonnie Charlie had been unable to waylay Catamount, Adam judged the Mingo and the Swedish militiamen would show up, by midday at the latest. It would then come down to who was the most persuasive, which, linguistically, put Adam at a disadvantage. Everything – life itself – could depend on this Rasannock to translate eloquently for Evangeline.
Even before dawn’s light, she stirred in his embrace and with a sigh breathed his name against his neck. Clasping her to his length, he swore that sigh would not be his undoing.
Somewhat later, Rasannock lifted the deer hide flap and, ducking his head, entered. “My uncle has summoned a counsel.”
Evangeline stirred, stretching her arms from the blanket that encompassed them, and Adam smelled the sweet, musky odor of her body’s lethargy. “This early?” she asked, pushing to a sitting position.
Rasannock left off his sidelong inventory of Adam and focused on her. “Another visitor has come.”
“Bonnie Charlie?” she asked more urgently. “He is all right?”
The young Indian’s plucked brows furrowed. “A Mingo scout for the Swedes. He claims this Englishman stole you from them.”
“Impossible,” she said, shoving back a swath of tumbled honey hair. “I am an Englishwoman, not a Swede. And I went with Adam willingly.”
So, Catamount had bested the fur trapper. Adam had liked the old geezer. “Time we greet this new arrival,” he said, sweeping up his saddlebags.
Time.
The way he had it figured, he had just enough time to conclude the negotiations for the land purchase before hightailing his way back to England – by way of Jamestown’s seaport, since Craven certainly would not welcome him with open arms aboard the Sovereign.
The Counsel House was much like the hut he and Evangeline occupied, only twice as large and hazed, both from the center fire pit and the pipe of peace being passed among the counsel subchiefs, all older men. Peering through the smoke that stung his eyes, he searched out his Mingo foe.
In the center of a circle of men sat an older Indian, draped in a deerskin robe. Wrapped around his waist was a sash of blue cloth decorated with coral and shells. The venerable, dignified man had to be Peminacka. Next to him, Rasannock dropped down in a fluid motion to sit as daintily as a maiden.
The powerfully muscled Catamount was distinguished by his frayed leggings, deer hide shirt, and straggly topknot stabbed by a single eagle feather. From a woven leather belt was suspended the long-dried scalp of a former enemy.
The Mingo scout was speaking in an agitated tone. The sachem listened. Then he responded in a grave tone, and Catamount nodded vigorously. With that, Peminacka addressed Rasannock, who uttered some heated response.
Apparently, a reprimand was issued by his uncle, because Rasannock turned to Adam with a glum expression. “My uncle, he asks – you fight Mingo scout for rights to the woman here, to Mistress Eve?”