Cherokee Storm. Janelle TaylorЧитать онлайн книгу.
the long rifle leaning against the far wall, but it was something. She was no light skirts, and she’d fight him with every ounce of her strength if he tried to have his way with her.
“Where is your other moccasin?” He indicated her bare foot. “I saw only one at the cave entrance.”
“My shoe? I lost it…in the storm.” Desperate not to sound foolish, she added, “The cow tried to get away. I couldn’t stop to find it.”
“I see.” He pulled a wicked-looking knife from the sheath at his waist and began to sharpen it with a stone. Firelight flashed on the surface of the steel blade.
“I’m not afraid of you.” When he looked doubtful, she repeated the lie. “You don’t scare me.”
“You are a poor liar, Mary Shannon.”
“I’m not…” She trailed off, knowing that he was right. She was terrified. Even the air in the cavern seemed charged, as though lightning would strike them at any second. The tension made it difficult to breathe…to sit still. “Your uncle…”
She stopped. This wasn’t Otter; he couldn’t be. He was the liar. “Otter’s uncle is a great man among the Cherokee. He will be angry if you hurt the only child of his good friend.”
He fixed those black eyes on hers. “Have I hurt you, woman? I have given you shelter from the storm, fed you, and covered you with my only blanket.”
“You haven’t hurt me,” she admitted. At least, not yet. “But you’re holding me against my will. And…” Her gaze strayed to the knife in his hand. “You murdered those men in cold blood.”
He shrugged. “So you say.”
“You killed them, didn’t you?”
“Go to sleep. I will keep watch.”
Not a chance, she thought. If she closed her eyes, who knew what he’d do? She curled her bare feet under her and pretended to drift off. The smells of the crackling fire, the warm familiar scent of the animals, the rain falling steadily at the cave mouth all conspired to lull her into a false sense of security. She was determined to watch for his attack, but as the minutes became hours and he continued to sit there, her resolve faltered and slumber as deep as death claimed her.
“Shan-non.”
Her eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly, startling the cow who snorted and shook her horns at the nearest horse. Shannon uttered a small gasp and tried to remember where she was.
“It is morning,” he said. “The sun has risen and the rain has stopped.” He held out a woven basket smaller than her fist. “Have you thirst?”
Her hand trembled as she reached for the object. He was so close she could smell his damp hair and skin, an unfamiliar woodsy blend of earth and forest…foreign but not unpleasant. As she took the basket, his lean fingers brushed hers and her heart raced at his touch. She drew in a deep breath. “What is—”
“Water from the spring. Drink.”
She obeyed and found the liquid cold and sweet, so different from the well water at Klank’s tavern that it seemed impossible both could be the same substance. She drained the cup to the last drop. “Where did you get this little basket?” she asked. It seemed fashioned of leaves and twigs, but it was watertight and light as duck down.
His bronze features remained expressionless, but his eyes narrowed. “It is nothing. A skill my aunt taught me when I was…” He hesitated, searching for the word. “A cub.”
“A small child,” she corrected. Had she lost her mind that she would concern herself with precise words? The man was nearly naked. His muscular legs were long and powerful. One bare thigh bore three great ivory scars that started at his hip and ran down the outside of his leg halfway to his knee. Only one animal could leave such a mark. She’d not been so long in the East that she didn’t recognize the damage a bear’s claw could do.
“Yes,” he said, tapping the single ornament that hung from a string of rawhide at his throat. “I was foolish enough to meet yona as he woke hungry from his winter’s sleep.”
Shannon swallowed hard. The necklace bore a bear’s claw, so large that simply looking at it made shivers run down her spine. “A big bear,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “An old warrior bear, strong and wise.” He touched the claw lightly. “Veteran of many battles.”
“But you escaped.”
He shook his head. “No. Yona killed me.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment before she saw one corner of his mouth twitch in amusement and realized that he was teasing her. “You said you were a cub,” she ventured. “Do you have some power over bears?”
“I was born to the Wolf Clan of the Tsalagi. A cub is a young one, no?”
“Yes, but—”
“A cub and a child the same.”
“Your English is very good, but a cub is an animal and a child is a human.”
“So you believe.”
Unwilling to argue the point with him, Shannon looked down at the vessel cradled in her hand. The weaving was simple yet beautiful. She wished she could make something so useful out of twigs and leaves. Strange to think a bloodthirsty Cherokee warrior might create such a thing…for her.
Otter had brought her small gifts whenever he’d visited the trading post. Once he’d given her a doll fashioned of wood and leather with real hair from a horse’s mane. She remembered how she’d loved the doll, even though it had no features. Where the eyes and mouth and nose should have been was only smooth buckskin. Otter had explained that only the Creator could make a human. The Cherokee sewed no faces on their children’s dolls. Odd, but charming.
But this wasn’t Otter, she reminded herself. Now that she wasn’t quite so frightened, she could see that this man wasn’t ugly. This morning, the war paint had vanished, leaving only those high cheekbones, the proud nose, and that honey red-brown skin. The fire had died to embers and she could no longer see his dark, fierce eyes, but she felt the intense power of his gaze.
“Can I go now?” she asked him.
He stepped back and allowed her to pass. She snatched up her dress and yanked it over her head. It was wrinkled but almost dry, and she felt confidence returning as soon as she was decently covered.
“I have to take the cow.”
He shrugged. “Did I not tell you I don’t drink milk?”
“She belongs to the Clark family. I’m responsible for the cow,” she babbled. Hope surged in her chest. Was he really going to allow her to walk out of here unharmed? She took hold of Betty’s dangling rope and pulled the troublesome animal after her. This seemed too easy. After all her fears, was he really just going to allow her to walk away?
When she reached the mouth of the cave, the sun was so bright that she had to shield her eyes from the glare. The storm that had made the woods so forbidding had transformed the forest into an Eden tinted with every shade of green. Birdsong echoed from branch to treetop, and a rainbow of wildflowers adorned the thick carpet of grass and moss.
Her one shoe lay where she’d discarded it, but the other was hopelessly lost. She’d have to find her way back to the camp in her stockinged feet. How she would replace the shoes, she had no clue. Worn though they were, the footwear had been her only pair.
“Come on, Betty,” she urged, pulling at the cow’s lead. She wanted to get away as quickly as possible—before he could change his mind. At least she wouldn’t have to return without the Clarks’ cow. She knew she’d be blamed for getting lost and—
A rifle shot rang out nearby. A flock of crows flew up in alarm, and a blue jay rasped an urgent warning. Shannon shouted, “Here! I’m here!” Then started as the Cherokee appeared