AT FIRST SIGHT: A Novella(31)

Then, Bonnie Charlie wobbled to a stance, and Gantu had to shoot out another hand to support the old man, who grinned at Adam. “Looks like yew are one of us wise men now.”

Six Ironsides soldiers weighted with either heavy cavalry swords, muskets, or pikes stood at attention outside the counsel house. Adam recognized the two – Wilkes and Browning. Inside, Evangeline stood in its center, the muscles in her jaws twitching. Sitting next to Peminacka, Craven took a puff from the calumet before passing it back.

Exhaling a helix of smoke, he leaned an arm on one propped knee. “Ahhh, the Devil himself joins us.” He glanced back at her. “Tell me, my dear, while I am quite gratified you have given your irrevocable word, I am nonetheless curious. Would you have so honorably sacrificed yourself -- facing an English court trial in trade for the freedom of Sutcliff here – if you had known that he personally escorted your father and brother to the executioner’s block?”

Her eyes wide, she half twisted to flash Adam a questioning glance.

He stepped forward, his lungs suffering the stab of pain with each jarring step. “Aye, what he says is true,” he told her remorsefully.

She recoiled. “Why . . . all this time . . . you knew . . . .” The horrible hurt that filled her eyes, her chin trembling, was an even greater stabbing pain.

“Come, come,” Craven chided. “At least, now you know Sutcliff for the scurvy weasel he is. At every step, he took advantage of you in order to conclude the land purchase. And while I am delighted you are returning with me to London, I must admit, I will sorely regret not prosecuting Sutcliff for both dereliction of duty and desertion.”

Rasannock, sitting on the sachem’s other side, intervened. “You do not have to do this thing, Mistress. My uncle, he offers you his protection.”

She glanced at Adam again, her eyes bright with desolation. He also saw hate simmering just below. He didn’t know which he hated more, seeing her hate vie for her love for him – or hating himself.

Her gaze switched back to Craven. Her still quivering chin lifted. Adam could see she was fighting hard to hold back her tears. “There is such a thing as honor,” she said in a raw voice. “My word is good.”

Tormented love vied with triumph in Craven’s expression. But another emotion, bitterness, pulsed beneath. “My dear, I, in turn, pledge to do all that is possible to see you get a fair trial.”

Adam looked at the folded parchment he tugged from his doublet. He had what he had come for. He would be the most foolish of men to forfeit that for which he had escaped servitude, made a modest fortune in sugar trading, and climbed to the top ranks of the Cromwellian regime – that being Sutcliff Manor, his soul-driving purpose. To abandon the fulfillment of that purpose . . . well, it would be his head he would be putting on Cromwell’s chopping block.

Yet, incredulously, he heard himself say, “Rasannock, tell your uncle that the gold and all the gifts they will buy are his.” He held up the signed deed, swishing it above the fire pit’s flames. “In addition, no white people will be settling on Lenape land – if he will see that Craven and his guards – along with myself – are escorted safely from the village.”

“No!” she shrieked and reached for the deed, but he held it aloft, out of her reach.

“Craven,” he said, now flourishing the second parchment along with the first. “In trade for the Lady Evangeline – you can have myself and this, your voucher on your mortgaged estates.”

She whirled to Rasannock. “Tell Peminacka that despite his daughter’s death from hemorrhaging, I saved Robbie– his grandson – and saw to it that he was returned to his people. I ask that the sachem and his chiefs hear my plea. My menfolk are kept safe here – and I accompany the Baron Craven and his guards.”

Adam grabbed her arm with his free hand and spun her to face him. With the back of his hand, he slapped her face deliberately, not hard, first one side, then the other. An outraged gasp issued from her. Next, she screamed in insane fury and lashed out with fingers meant to claw.

But his arm, secured around her waist, held her small, struggling body firmly against his side, all the while holding the parchments out of her frantic reach. “Tell your uncle what I said, Rasannock.”

Craven shot to his feet, his hand on his rapier’s silver hilt, threatening.

Bonnie Charlie tottered forward, his grip on his tomahawk’s haft, warning.

The giant Gantu limped into the arena of contestants.

“What’s it to be, Craven?” Adam demanded. “Your home and my head – or a woman who does not love you, oh?”

Craven’s eyes were a flinty hard, but his shoulders slumped. He made no further move.

Evangeline continued her livid screeching, but one solid swat on her bottom sent her into another paroxysm of livid gasps.

The sachem nodded approvingly.

“Tell your uncle,” Adam ordered Rasannock.

Rasannock looked at him as if he were possessed but relayed the offer.

Adam glanced around the circle of the subchief’s solemn faces. One by one each spoke, each taking an inordinate length of time, when it seemed to him that a simple yea or nay would serve – especially, as the wildcat in his arm continued her various two-fisted assaults on his chest and throat and face.

At last, Peminacka nodded and spoke at length, and Rasannock translated. “My uncle says that it is a wise man who rules his house and his women. He says that you, the Englishman, and his warriors will be escorted from our village.”