Matiassu,” she warned.
“You wouldn’t kill me for that.” The war chief motioned with his chin toward Brandon. “We are Shawnee, and he is enemy.”
“He is mine! My husband,” she said. “And I would kill you as quickly as I would a mad wolf who attacked my son.” Leah’s arms trembled with the strain of holding the bow. “I would kill you,” she promised, “and none would know who had done it. Look closely, Matiassu. Do you recognize this arrow? I took it from your wigwam minutes ago. Look at the feathering.”
Matiassu let the knife fall to the ground and turned away, his face crimson with shame. Picking up his fallen musket, he stalked away into the forest without looking back. Leah held the bow in place, the arrow aimed at his back, until he was out of sight.
Brandon exhaled loudly. “Thank you, m’lady. That was well done, and not a minute too soon.” He leaned back against a tree and tried to keep his stomach from making a complete fool of him. His arm and thigh were bleeding freely, and he felt light-headed. “What was all that about?” He indicated the direction Matiassu had taken. “Why was he trying to kill me? And what did you say to him?”
Leah released the pressure on the bow and lowered it. She plucked the arrow from the string and held it out to him, feathered end first. “This nay be Shawnee feathering,” she said precisely in English. “Look, Brandon mine, and remember. I have found our Seneca.”
“Him? But why?”
“Matiassu wants me to be his wife,” she explained starkly. “I have taken ye to husband instead.”
“So he wants to make you a widow.”
“Aye, and Matiassu be a dangerous man. He’ll do it, if we canna think of a way to stop him quickly.”
“What of the old man? Tuk-o-see-yah, your sachem. Can’t you appeal to him?”
Leah sighed softly and reached out to take his hand. “Aye, Brandon mine, we can. Tuk-o-see-yah is a wise man and a great leader. We may ask him for justice, but . . .” Her eyes grew large and troubled.
“But? But what?”
“Matiassu is his only grandson.”
Chapter 7
T hat night, Leah sat in her aunt’s wigwam holding Kitate and singing him Shawnee lullabies until he fell asleep. “I have missed him so much,” Leah admitted as she tucked him into his sleeping robe and put his favorite toy beside him. “My house seems empty without his laughter.”
Amookas took a long draw on her soapstone pipe and sighed loudly. “Did I not warn you, child of my heart? Did I not say that the sky-eyed Englishmanake would bring you nothing but unhappiness ?” She passed the pipe to her husband. “Alex mine, did I not say the man was bad luck?”
Alex nodded solemnly. “Yes, mother of my sons. You said it. You repeated it loudly. I doubt that there is anyone within a day’s hunting of this place who didn’t hear you say so,” he said in burred Algonquian.
“The child could have been with his mother if she’d left the captive where he belonged. If she wanted another husband, why didn’t she choose one of the good men who offered for her? Why not take Matiassu?” She shook a finger at Leah. “Being one of two wives of a good man is not a punishment. Haven’t I shared Alex with Tahmee? Did it do me harm?”
Leah made no reply. It was Amookas’s way to complain bitterly. When her aunt had said all that was on her mind, she would be in a mood to offer help.
“Not that we haven’t enjoyed having Kitate with us, you understand,” Alex said. He was busy rubbing oil into a new musket stock he had carved from cherry. The barrel of the musket lay on a deerskin in front of him. Alex’s skills as a gunsmith were well known on the frontier. His muskets brought top prices to Indian or white man, and the proceeds made his extended family wealthy. “Kitate is as welcome here as our twins.”
“And who said otherwise?” Amookas protested. “Moonfeather knows that we love Kitate as we love her.”
“I know this,” Leah said. She
“You wouldn’t kill me for that.” The war chief motioned with his chin toward Brandon. “We are Shawnee, and he is enemy.”
“He is mine! My husband,” she said. “And I would kill you as quickly as I would a mad wolf who attacked my son.” Leah’s arms trembled with the strain of holding the bow. “I would kill you,” she promised, “and none would know who had done it. Look closely, Matiassu. Do you recognize this arrow? I took it from your wigwam minutes ago. Look at the feathering.”
Matiassu let the knife fall to the ground and turned away, his face crimson with shame. Picking up his fallen musket, he stalked away into the forest without looking back. Leah held the bow in place, the arrow aimed at his back, until he was out of sight.
Brandon exhaled loudly. “Thank you, m’lady. That was well done, and not a minute too soon.” He leaned back against a tree and tried to keep his stomach from making a complete fool of him. His arm and thigh were bleeding freely, and he felt light-headed. “What was all that about?” He indicated the direction Matiassu had taken. “Why was he trying to kill me? And what did you say to him?”
Leah released the pressure on the bow and lowered it. She plucked the arrow from the string and held it out to him, feathered end first. “This nay be Shawnee feathering,” she said precisely in English. “Look, Brandon mine, and remember. I have found our Seneca.”
“Him? But why?”
“Matiassu wants me to be his wife,” she explained starkly. “I have taken ye to husband instead.”
“So he wants to make you a widow.”
“Aye, and Matiassu be a dangerous man. He’ll do it, if we canna think of a way to stop him quickly.”
“What of the old man? Tuk-o-see-yah, your sachem. Can’t you appeal to him?”
Leah sighed softly and reached out to take his hand. “Aye, Brandon mine, we can. Tuk-o-see-yah is a wise man and a great leader. We may ask him for justice, but . . .” Her eyes grew large and troubled.
“But? But what?”
“Matiassu is his only grandson.”
Chapter 7
T hat night, Leah sat in her aunt’s wigwam holding Kitate and singing him Shawnee lullabies until he fell asleep. “I have missed him so much,” Leah admitted as she tucked him into his sleeping robe and put his favorite toy beside him. “My house seems empty without his laughter.”
Amookas took a long draw on her soapstone pipe and sighed loudly. “Did I not warn you, child of my heart? Did I not say that the sky-eyed Englishmanake would bring you nothing but unhappiness ?” She passed the pipe to her husband. “Alex mine, did I not say the man was bad luck?”
Alex nodded solemnly. “Yes, mother of my sons. You said it. You repeated it loudly. I doubt that there is anyone within a day’s hunting of this place who didn’t hear you say so,” he said in burred Algonquian.
“The child could have been with his mother if she’d left the captive where he belonged. If she wanted another husband, why didn’t she choose one of the good men who offered for her? Why not take Matiassu?” She shook a finger at Leah. “Being one of two wives of a good man is not a punishment. Haven’t I shared Alex with Tahmee? Did it do me harm?”
Leah made no reply. It was Amookas’s way to complain bitterly. When her aunt had said all that was on her mind, she would be in a mood to offer help.
“Not that we haven’t enjoyed having Kitate with us, you understand,” Alex said. He was busy rubbing oil into a new musket stock he had carved from cherry. The barrel of the musket lay on a deerskin in front of him. Alex’s skills as a gunsmith were well known on the frontier. His muskets brought top prices to Indian or white man, and the proceeds made his extended family wealthy. “Kitate is as welcome here as our twins.”
“And who said otherwise?” Amookas protested. “Moonfeather knows that we love Kitate as we love her.”
“I know this,” Leah said. She
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