AT FIRST SIGHT: A Novella(30)
“Adam!” That was Evangeline’s shout.
Distracted, he spared her a glance. In that brief moment, Catamount swiped his knife once more, finding the target of the ribs that protected Adam’s heart. He inhaled sharply at the searing parting of his flesh again.
She tossed him Bonnie’s Charlie’s tomahawk. Catching its haft, he dodged beneath the next jab of Catamount’s knife and with a mighty swing cleaved the Indian’s skull from his topknot down to his nostrils. With spray of blood, the Indian crumbled. It was finished.
Stunned silence reigned over the crowd. From their dumbfounded expressions, Adam could tell what they were thinking. No Indian could possibly lose a wrestling match to a white man . . . and yet, exactly that had happened. Worse, an Indian had cheated, broken the rules. A grim faced Peminacka and the subchiefs turned their backs on the fallen Catamount. The villagers drifted back to their homes.
Wiping the sweat and slush from his face, Adam staggered and was surprised by Rasannock, who slipped an arm around his waist to hoist him upright. “Come.”
Evangeline was already in the hut, on her knees, fussing over a supine Bonnie Charlie. She glanced up. “Rasannock, I will need moss. Dried bog moss. And maggots. Find me moss and maggots.” Then beholding Adam’s mud-and-blood-plastered body, added, “And water. Plenty of water.”
After the young man had departed, Adam slumped against the timbered-and-clay-chinked wall. “How is he?” he asked her, nodding at Bonnie Charlie.
Without opening his eyes, the old man groused, “The cowardly Mingo damned near took me scalp but was in too much of a hurry to catch up with yew two to finish off his job.” The fur trapper managed one of his toothless grins. “But yew should have seen the three militiamen I laid into with me new whittling knife. The other two hightailed it back to Fort Christina.”
She circled the center fire pit to kneel before Adam. In her eyes, he saw anxious concern – the kind of concern shown for a loved one. To be loved. The road of his life had been long and hard and lonely. All these years he had felt that walk it alone he must.
“Move your hand,” she said briskly, “Let me look at that cut.”
Barely had she worked loose his ripped doublet’s fastenings, than outside some sort of commotion aroused the villagers. Once more, they trotted past the hut. A cacophony of cries and hoots and whistles and rattles resounded.
At that same moment, Rasannock entered with a clay pot of water. He was followed by the inordinately tall Gantu in a beaver hat. The man took one look at Adam and asked wryly, “It is you, mon, the One Lucky Devil?”
“My lacerated ribs would not agree.” However, he did have the signed deed. And that counted for everything. In fact, both signed documents.
“Gantu!” Evangeline cried and, grinning widely, shot to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
He hung his head to his chest. “Baron Craven, force me he did to lead his troop here.” Then with abject misery, he eyed her. “You understand, right?”
“This village is becoming quite the gathering place,” Adam said grimly. Sitting, he was at eye level with Gantu’s hands. On each, it appeared the small finger was missing and poorly bandaged, obviously by the man’s own efforts. “I see we both have something else in common – missing digits.”
“My God, Gantu,” she said grabbing his hand. “Are all my men maimed?”
“I would not tell them where you be, you see?” Gantu said with a gulp, “So the Baron, he ordered then Skute’s right front paw lobbed off. After that . . . ” tears choked the giant’s voice, “when he went to order Skute’s left rear paw . . . I couldna help meself.” At that, the man was blubbering like a baby.
Her men? Adam had not missed that and wondered if he was included among her men. But he only said, “So, he’s here? William Craven is here?”
With tears spiking his long lashes, Rasannock lifted both of Gantu’s hands and kissed each of the bloodied bandages. “That is enough,” Gantu growled, but the affection between the two was obvious.
Rasannock said in a raw voice, “The Englishman tells my uncle he comes in peace, also. But look at my Gantu’s hands. The Englishman, he will do what it takes to have what he wants. He wants you, Mistress.”
Bonnie Charlie pushed upright on one forearm. “You can tell his royal arse that I’ll see him burn in eternal fire first.”
She whirled on the four men. Hands on her hips, her scowling gaze swept them with what might have been described as contempt. “Look at yourselves. The three of you cripples could not defend yourselves against a mouse. And Rasannock, here, would never harm one. I can take care of myself and vile men like Craven.”
She turned back to Rasannock and released a pent-up breath from quivering lips. “Come along. At least, I would hope you can interpret for me.” She flung aside the entrance flap, saying over her shoulder to the rest of them, “Stay put. I shall return shortly.”
Sparing a sorrowful glance for Gantu’s hands, the Indian obediently followed.
Bonnie Charlie and Gantu looked at each other with raised brows.
“Like hell, I’ll stay put,” Adam said. He retrieved the parchments from his saddlebags, stuffed them inside his doublet, and shoved himself upright. Starbursts of pain obscured his vision, and he placed a steadying palm on the wall. Gantu shot out a supportive bandaged hand and twinged with the painful contact.