CHAPTER TWO

Arrow sighed. This was a mistake. He had grown tired of the woman's screams hours ago, had gagged her with a piece of leather, and he now felt terrible about it. She was not even trying to cry out now as they traveled deeper into the forest. She was slowing him down. He needed to get miles between German Flats before nightfall. If anyone caught him with a tied up white woman he would likely pay with his life.There were Colonists all around these parts and they would not be so kind as the British, who would offer him money and weapons in exchange for the woman, dead or alive.

He hoped she was not sick. In the times that he had observed her before now, he had thought she was strong. He needed a strong woman to withstand this journey and the life that would be ahead of her. Living the Gageagaono way of life was not easy, not like the pampered life of white women. Women of his kind knew the value of hard work. They knew how to take care of their families and survive the harsh winters here. They did not rely on their men to gather firewood and food and keep them fat and lazy.

Warblers and bluejays sang overhead, gathering food and scurrying amongst the white pine branches. Arrow had always loved summer because of the sound of birds. It reminded him of simpler times. Summer was a time of life and renewal even though it often meant taking to the warpath, being away from family and the guilt that went along with it.

He looked back at the white woman. Tendrils of brown hair had escaped the hideous bun she wore in the back of her head. Her face was haggard. Worry had given way to exhaustion. He would untie her gag when they got a little further from German Flats, but he could not risk it now.

This had been a huge mistake.

~ * ~

The Indian stopped suddenly. Mercy had been focused on the surrounding forest and nearly crashed into him. She had always been adept at walking long distances just from the physical labor it took to run the trading post. She was always on her feet, always climbing ladders to get things from storage, always stocking shelves. She was used to physical endurance. However, right now she could not remember a time she felt more exhausted.

She didn't know how far they had come but her feet were hurting like never before. They had been walking for what seemed like hours. How would John and Sarah ever find her? Or would they even bother looking for her? That was the part that frightened her. Just yesterday, John had warned her that she was going too far. That her employment with him might be bad for his business. She was gaining a bad reputation. People were catching on in the part she played in this war, and if anyone caught wind that John had employed her in his trading post, they would likely stop doing business with him.

That was likely the reason for her kidnapping. This Indian was going to sell her to the British. No doubt she had a price on her head. She tried not to panic. Even if he sold her it did not mean he would kill her. She was used to heartache and turmoil. She had been through worse. She could get through this.

Couldn't she?

The Indian turned and quickly approached her. Mercy stepped back two steps to his one and hit her back against a tree. Before she could put her bound hands up to protect herself, he pulled a knife from his belt and came at her.

It happened so quickly that she had no time to panic. In one swift motion he brought his knife up and cut the leather which gagged her. She opened her mouth and it fell away.

A rush of fresh air hit her, making her want to cry out with relief. She flexed her jaw wondering how long she had endured the uncomfort of having the leather in her mouth.

"Untie me at once." She raised her chin and met his dark gaze. Terrified as she was, she refused to be intimidated by him.

He just stared at her.

"I know you can speak English because I've sold powder and ammunition to you. Untie me this instant."

She did not expect him to laugh. A rich, hearty laugh that came from his belly. How dare he?

"What is so funny?"

He just shook his head, and suddenly as quickly as his humor appeared it faded. His look was stern, hostile, definitely dangerous.

What if he attacked her here in the woods? Panic formed a lump in her throat. She stared at the tomahawk he wore at the belt at his waist. He could rape her out here in the middle of nowhere and chop her body into pieces. No one would ever know what had become of her.

Would anyone even care?

Common sense told her to run, to get out of here as fast as she could. Her feet were not bound. She wondered how far she could get with her hands tied. She didn't get very far the first time she attempted to escape.

Maybe if she were to stand and face him down he would trust her. Or at the very least let his guard down...and then she could escape.

She squared her shoulders. "I think you should know that you are not dealing with an average woman."

The Indian cocked an eyebrow.

"I have contacts on both British and Colonial sides, so it will do you no good to try to barter me. You will earn no payment."

He seemed perplexed. "You are not afraid that I am simply going to kill you?"

His English was clear, well spoken without the slightest mispronunciation. Mercy knew the Indians who spoke English well learned so from dealing with white men. Surely he must be going to barter her. There was no other explanation.

"No," she simply answered. "I do not believe you are going to kill me."

Eyebrow still cocked, he sized her up with his gaze.

"Then you will have to wait and see what I will do with you." He took a step forward and motioned over his shoulder. "Come."

He did not re-gag her, although he still pulled her on a tether bound around her neck like a dog. Her first thought was to resist, to refuse to allow him to lead her like an animal. However, perhaps if she followed him he would learn to trust her. And if he learned to trust her, he might give up his secrets.

She walked in silence, concentrating on the terrain around her and trying hard to forget about her aching feet. They were slowly going uphill. If they were going east, she could find her way to Albany and people knew her there. She could easily find her way back to the trading post. However, if they were going north...she had no way to navigate her way into the mountains.

But she could learn. Look at all the accomplishments she had succeeded at since Trevor passed.

She wouldn't think of Trevor now. Not like this. Only good thoughts. Otherwise the panic would take over.

Hours passed as she walked in silence. Suddenly the Indian stopped. He walked up to her. He had a strange look on his face. Just what he was thinking she could only imagine.

"Why are you not trying to run?"

"Do you want me to run?"

He seemed confused. He looked at her for a long while. Mercy wondered if he was an amateur at kidnapping. The idea should not seem funny. Perhaps she was delusional. She almost laughed which seemed to make him all the more confused.

"If you are bartering me, I want to know. I at least deserve to know my fate."

"Bartering you?"

"Yes, I know your kind often sells women and children to the British, sometimes to the French."

"How is it that a woman knows so much?"

Mercy did not like his condensing attitude. However in her line of work she was used to it. Little phased her anymore.

"If you are bartering me, you will not get very far. I work for John Grossman, owner of--"

"The trading post in German Flats," he interrupted. "This is nothing that I do not already know."

"I am worth little monetary value."

"You are a woman, are you not? You are worth at least twenty-five pounds in British coin."

"So you are selling me to the British?" Mercy knew it would be difficult to get back to her home if she were going to the British, but it could be done and she could possibly gain valuable information in the process.

He was about to say something when a single shot fired. The Indian ducked, grabbing Mercy with him and pulling her into the thickets. He pulled her down and crouched over her. Briars stung her face. She felt wetness on her cheek but could not brush the blood away.

More shots fired then shouting in another language. From their hiding place, Mercy saw a troop of soldiers march past them. They spoke quickly. They were not in any sort of formation. One had three rabbits strung on a teather.

They were hunting. Not shooting at them.

She sat in absolute silence as they passed. If she were to scream right now they would see her, perhaps rescue her. They might take her back home where she would be safe.

Or they might kill her. At least this Indian kept her alive. He had tied her up like a common dog but he had not hurt her. Not yet anyway.

What seemed like hours went by until finally the Indian moved off her. To her surprise, he helped her up.

She took his hand that he offered. His grip was strong. His hands were large in hers, and they were surprisingly warm.

"Are you all right?"

"I-I think so."

"You are shaking."

Mercy had not realized that she was. She looked down at her hands which were anything but still.

~ * ~

Straight Arrow knew the woman was scared. This was the first time he had seen her frightened. She had put on a brave front the whole time. Something he had never seen from a woman. He could not deny that it intrigued him. He doubted all white women were like this. He had seen them in Albany and various forts and outposts. Always complaining, expecting their men to cater to their every whim.

He wanted no part of that.

Arrow thought to tell her the truth, exactly why he needed her and what his intentions were, but he did not know how she would react. Furthermore, the fact that she thought he had kidnapped her for monetary gain was expected. His people often traded and bartered women and children to the British for money or political gain. Sometimes they kept them to replace a deceased family member. By the way this woman spoke, she had some sort of ties to political power. He did not understand it but he intended to find out.

She acted like he could trust her. She did not shout or try to run when the soldiers passed by. She could have and he still wondered why she had not.

He was going to do something that might prove to be foolish, but he took out his knife. The woman's eyes immediately widened at the sight of the knife. Arrow did not want to frighten her. That had never been his intention.

"I will not hurt you." He motioned to her to turn around and hold out her hands.

Slowly she turned, and he cut her bindings.

She turned around, brought her arms in front of her and rubbed her wrists. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you did not shout when the soldiers passed us by," he answered, then met her gaze. "Why did you not?"

"They were French."

"And?"

"They are the enemy."

He was surprised by her answer. "Are you in favor of the British?"

"No." She raised her chin. "I am in favor of my own gain. Not the British, not the French."

"What do you hope to gain?"

"Retribution."

"For what?"

"The death of my husband."

She shocked him. Arrow did not know she had been married. He knew she was good with children because he had observed her with John Grossman's young children. Seeing her compassion for that was what had been his deciding factor to kidnapping her.

"How did he die?"

"He was shot in the back by British fire."

"He was a traitor."

"No." she was quick to defend. "He knew too much."

"That is the same thing."

"No it is not. A traitor purposely keeps lies and secrets. Trevor didn't want to know anything. He was just doing his job."

"Which was?"

"He worked with John Grossman at the trading post. They were partners."

It suddenly dawned on Arrow that he knew this woman's former husband. He had seen him in the trading post, had traded with him before. He did not seem like a bad man, not that Arrow knew much about him.

"I am sorry for your loss." He seldom offered condolences, but he meant it.

"Thank you."

She was silent for a long time. She looked around. Arrow wondered if she was looking for an escape route.

"How is it that you know English so well?" she asked.

"I trade often. You learn fast."

She nodded, seemingly at ease with his explanation. Most white women would probably not believe that his kind could be smart enough to know two languages.

"Do you have children?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

Her expression took on such a look of sadness that he immediately regretted his question. "I am sorry."

"She was stillborn." She shook her head. "Not that it doesn't still hurt. It's just that others often think it's not the same."

"How could it not be the same?"

She stared at him for a long while with a surprised look on her face. "No one has ever said that to me."

"I am sorry."

"No, don't apologize." Her eyes began to tear and she frantically wiped them away. "No just meant…you seem to understand."

"I understand about losing children."

She did not say anything else, and Arrow truly felt that he would have told her everything had she pressed the issue. He did not understand what was happening to him. He had just met this stranger—a white woman at that—and he suddenly wanted to tell her everything. And what would she even say? She would be furious with him for interfering with her life and expecting her to change things. She had her own life to live at the trading post. He had no right taking her away from that.

Maybe he should take her back.

"I'm sorry for your loss as well." She was standing only inches from him.

Something unexpected wormed its way inside the cold and dark recesses of his heart. Where it was black he felt a glimmer of light. He had no explanation for it. It was relief and rest and it scared him more than any warpath he had ever walked.

He simply nodded.

Maybe he was finally losing his mind. An image formed in Arrow's mind and it was so strong, so powerful it nearly left him shaking. He pictured this white woman in his lodge with Talise and Tarlo. What would they think of her? What if they liked her? Arrow had only known her for hours and he was pleasantly surprised at every turn. What if they were as well?

Warmth centered in his chest, quickly finding harbor in his heart. What if this worked? What if she fixed everything?

He stepped close to her, and to his surprise she did not back away. He liked that she did not seem frightened of him. He liked that very much.

"Are you hungry?" He reached into his possibles bag and pulled out venison jerky. "It is not much but it is good for you to eat." He took one piece, offered her another.

She took it and cautiously took a bite. "Thank you."

He nodded and they chewed in silence.

"What do you know about the war?"

She squared her jaw. "I know that once this war is won it will be up to the women to pick up the pieces."

"How so?"

"Our men are dying, leaving widows and children without fathers in their wake. Women have to know how to farm, how to gather and cut wood on their own or else how will we ever survive?"

"Does John Grossman provide for you?"

"He offers me employment and I rent a room upstairs in the loft."

"While he goes home to his family?"

She nodded.

"A woman should not live alone."

"What choice do I have?" She was quick to defend. "I already told you of my loss."

"Do you not have a chance for other suitors?"

She seemed to think for a moment. "That's a very personal question."

"Yes." He wondered why she did not answer. It was a question just like the others she had already answered.

"Do you not want a man?"

"You are very rude."

"You had a man. Did he treat you poorly?"

She shook her head. "Trevor was a good man."

Arrow was surprised by the jealousy that crept up. He did not expect it. He was not a man to be jealous of anyone…although he often wished he were someone else.

"What side of the war are you on?" She stepped closer.

"You speak of a white man's war. What makes you think I fight with anyone?"

"Your scars." she stated matter-of-factly. "Your back is riddled with bullet wounds."

"That does not mean I fight with the white man." He moved closer to her and motioned to his shoulder. "Huron fire."

"What about your jacket?" She motioned to the red and gold-trimmed British officer's jacket that he wore.

"I gave two beaver pelts to a French trader for it." It was the truth. Somehow he felt lessened by her judgment, like he should have killed a man for it.

"Do all white women take to war matters so freely?"

"I don't know. I don't have much opportunity to speak to many women working at the trading post. Just Sarah, John's wife, but she is always so busy with the children and the cooking and looking after them."

"I do not imagine you do."

"If you don't fight for the British, what is your side in this war?"

"I have taken no side."

"Everyone has taken a side in this war."

"Then you must have kidnapped me for trade of some sort."

He did not know what she meant.

"You aren't involved in this war, yet you kidnapped a perfect stranger. What's in it for you?"

"You are not a stranger."

His response seemed to surprise her. Arrow closed the distance between them. He wanted to tell her that he noticed her last summer. He wanted to tell her that, talking to her now, he wished he had spoken to her sooner. How could he even explain in a way she would understand when he himself did not understand?

Once she realized the real reason he needed her she would run. That was the only thing women were good for.

Running.