Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(80)

Betty stared at the Indians with widening eyes. “I thought you said you’d made a deal with a fur trader.”

“Then you heard wrong.”

Angelique was surprised when Betty’s fingers made contact with hers. The young girl squeezed her hand and offered her a look of sympathy that only filled Angelique with more dread.

With a scowl the younger brave scrutinized Angelique from her head down to the tips of her shoes. He shook his head and then turned and spoke to the older Indian. The tone suggested they were arguing, and Angelique hoped they didn’t like what they saw and that they would refuse her.

The younger one lifted angry eyes to her once again. “Come.” He motioned her forward with a jerk of his hand.

Angelique’s body stuck to the wall. Her fingers intertwined with Betty’s.

The Indian motioned to her again, this time more impatiently. “Come. We go now.”

The older Indian nodded at her. There was something kind about his face, almost encouraging, as if he were trying to reassure her that everything would be all right.

Still, she couldn’t make her legs move, not even when Ebenezer glared at her. “What are you waiting for? It’s time for you to go.”

The brave gave a curt shake of his head, the feathers in his hair swirling and the metal discs around his neck clinking. He took several long strides toward her. When he stopped in front of her, she flattened herself against the wall.

His bronzed skin glistened with bear grease and emanated a powerful odor. Was he to be her husband, or had the older Indian paid for her?

The young Indian studied her face and then, before she could stop him, yanked on her mobcap and tore it from her head. Her curls tumbled down her shoulders and about her face in wild disarray.

His eyes rounded, and he fingered a strand of her hair reverently.

She tugged her head away, pulling her hair out of his grasp.

But he reached for a handful this time and tugged it hard. A pained cry slipped from her lips.

He turned and grinned at the old Indian. He then spoke something in his native tongue, something that made them both nod and smile, as if sharing a private joke.

The desperation that had been rising inside her finally burst. “Please,” she called to Ebenezer. “Don’t make me go with them.”

She tried to scramble away from the Indian back to the kitchen, back to her attic room, but he was too quick. He captured her arm in a grip that told her she wouldn’t be going anywhere but with him.

“You have nothing to fear,” he said, surprising her with his good English and his almost gentle tone. “I will keep you safe.”

But everything about the brave spoke of danger, hardship, and a way of life that was completely foreign to her. She had everything to fear.

His ebony eyes implored her. And when she still didn’t move, he jerked her, giving her little choice but to move away from the wall. Her legs shook with each step she took, and she willed herself to go with him bravely, without further struggle. She didn’t want him to tie her up and sling her over his shoulders. She couldn’t go the way Therese had.

If she cooperated, maybe she could figure out a way to get away from them before they took her too far from the island. If she could steal a canoe, she might be able to paddle back to the island and take refuge with Miriam. She could hide on the farm, help Miriam through the coming winter, and wait for the day when the war ended and Jean could finally come home.

A tiny flicker of hope fanned to life. Even if the plan was nearly impossible, she had to cling to something.

As she approached the door, the older Indian nodded at her. She tried to muster a return nod, but her muscles were wooden. When she stepped outside and cast a glance over her shoulder to say good-bye, Ebenezer was too busy counting his coins, and Betty was staring at the floor.

Angelique stiffened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried to quell the thought that no one was there to say good-bye to her.

No one would know or care she was gone—no one except Miriam. But what could her dear blind friend do to save her? If the war ever ended and Jean made it home to learn the news of her marriage to the Indian, he’d never be able to find her out in the miles and miles of wilderness. She would be as good as dead to him.

And with Pierre gone, what reason did she have for living anyway?





Chapter

22



Angelique huddled under the wool blanket the older Indian had given her, but after hours of exposure to the cold drizzle, the blanket no longer kept her dry or warm. She stared over the side of the canoe at the endless churning of Lake Michigan. The stormy gray of the water reflected the low clouds overhead.

They’d been paddling for three days. And with each passing day, she’d lost hope that she’d ever see Michilimackinac Island again. Her slim chance of escape had vanished. The young Indian never let her out of his sight, and even if she had managed to steal the canoe, she didn’t know how she’d be able to return that far by herself.

As it was, the older Indian was struggling. The waters had grown choppy, and the cold wind had become stronger. Lines of weariness had settled on the man’s face.

She glared at the straight back of the young Indian in front of her. He was pushing the old man from dawn until well after dark every day. Couldn’t he see his friend was almost as miserable as she was?

But the silence stretched between them as wide and long as the lake itself. He’d spoken only a few sentences to her since they’d met. She still didn’t know where they were going or which of the men was to be her husband.