CHAPTER THREE

They walked for what seemed like miles. Mercy fought a panic that had started to grow hours ago. The longer she followed him the more lost she became. She had tried paying attention to her surroundings, but since he had begun speaking to her she lost track. He told her about the Hurons, how they were enemies to the Gageagaono—Mohawk. This man was Mohawk. Mercy was actually carrying on a civilized conversation with a Mohawk, one of the most blood-thirstiest natives in the territory.

She should have ran, but if she ran now…darkness would be upon them soon. Then what? She could run into the Hurons or other war parties he told her about.

She still had no idea why he had taken her or what he planned to do with her. She didn't even know his—

"Tell me your name."

He stopped walking so abruptly that she nearly ran into him. "Straight Arrow."

"Straight Arrow." She rolled the sound over on her tongue. "Why do they call you that?"

Arrow just shrugged. "They just do."

"Do you wish to know my name?"

"Mercy Whitstone."

He knew from her expression he had surprised her. "I traded with you in the past, do you not recall?"

"I do."

His senses heightened. Did she remember him?

"You asked me if I was afraid of you, and I said no."

He remembered. "Are you now?"

She did not want to answer. He could see it in her expression that she was. He did not want that.

But really what else did he expect? He knew if he told her his plans she would be against him. Maybe he should return her.

He stared at her. Her expression was no longer strong. Her hair had come out of the hideous bun at the back of her head and now fell around her like an oak brown waterfall.She was not as ugly as he had first thought. Her eyes were brown like the Gageagaono women, and if her skin were a bit darker she could easily pass as one of his people.

Without thinking he closed the distance between them in two strides. Catching her face with both hands, he kissed her hard.

He had expected her to pull away. He expected her to fight, to perhaps hit him. He did not expect the delicate sigh that escaped her lips. Her lips here light, feathered over his, and then to his surprise she opened to him. He invaded her mouth with his tongue. Memories of closeness, of actually being with a woman, flooded him, driving him onward against the isolation, the coldness, the loneliness. She took him in, suckling him, making him feel wanted, alive, something he had not felt in years, if ever.

His kiss took her completely by surprise, even more so, Mercy was enjoying it. Trevor had been the last person to kiss her and that had been over a year ago. Months of lonely nights, of waiting for nothing to come along, hauntings of regret, things she should have said and done flooded back to her. She was a wife. She would have been a mother.

What was she doing? Kissing an Indian in the middle of the forest, miles from civilization. What had she even been thinking this entire time? He could rape her here and now and leave her for dead—or make her wish she were dead.

Tearing away from his embrace, she did what she should have done all along and took off on a dead run. Her high-buttoned shoes pounded the forest floor as she cut through ferns and brush. Twigs and branches cut her face and arms, snared her hair, but she kept running.

He was quick on her heels. Too fast for her. He cut through the thick forest like he was made for it, and she stood little chance of escape.

He caught her around the waist, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Mercy landed with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of her. The Indian landed on top of her.

He held her still between her knees. She kicked and rythed, but he caught her hands behind her waist. She screamed, and he clamped a hand over her mouth. The whole length of him leaned over her, his breath inches from her ear.

"Do not shout and I will not bind you again."

"Why did you do that? What do you want from me?"

He got up, pulled her up with him. Mercy tried to run, but he pushed her up against a tree, trapping her with his body.

He was not a big man, barely an inch over her five feet three, but he was solid muscle, like a wall she could not penetrate.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fought the panic that welled up within her. She was so stupid for not running sooner! What was she even thinking? He wasn't going to take her over enemy lines where she could learn more information, possibly justify Trevor's death. He was simply going to rape her then most likely scalp her.

She hated herself for allowing the tears to stream down her face, hated that she showed weakness even in the face of this senseless killer.

"Mercy Whitmore."

Mercy heard him calling her name, but she refused to look at him. Just let him get it over with and kill her. At least she would be with her family then.

"Mercy Whitmore, open your eyes."

"Just kill me."

"I do not intend to kill you. Look at me. Please."

Mercy opened her eyes. Two black eyes stared back. His skin was darkened from the sun. Wrinkles had started at the corners of his eyes. He was older than her, possibly quite a bit older. She wondered about his age.

"I would rather have you kill me than torture me. I have been through enough. I don't want to live like this anymore."

"I do not intend to kill or torture you. Please listen to me."

"I know what your kind does. I have heard stories."

"Yes, I know the stories."

"You kill babies in their beds."

"And eat their hearts. Yes, I know."

Mercy did not miss the sarcasm in his voice. She wondered if he felt remorse for what he had done, assuming he was as much of a killer as he appeared. He spoke like he was proud of his accomplishments, and that disgusted her.

"If you are not going to believe me then I suggest you just do as I say and you will find out soon enough."

"No. I demand to know now."

"You are my prisoner. Therefore, you have no demands. I told you I would not hurt you. For now that is all you need to know."

"Then why did you kiss me?"

Mercy regretted her words before she finished saying them. Part of her did not want him to answer her. Part of her wanted him to kiss her again. Despite knowing she was once someone's wife. Despite feeling like a complete harlot for enjoying the attention from a man again. She took a step back, surprised that he in turn took a step toward her.

"Did you like it?"

He stood so close now, close enough to feel his breath on her face. She was in real trouble this time. He was going to kiss her again and this time he would not stop. This time he would take things too far and he would rape her and murder her in the middle of nowhere. Or injure her and leave her for dead.

He kissed her so gently that she did not even think he was touching her. She sighed against his mouth. His lips were remarkably soft; a stark contrast to his hard interior. He pulled away leaving her wanting more.

She opened her eyes. "Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to."

A simple, honest answer. She had a feeling he was always honest about everything. He said he would not hurt her. Was he telling the truth? Perhaps.

"Did you want me to?"

His question took her by surprise. Yes, of course. No. She did not know.

She took another step back. "Y-you said you would not hurt me."

"No harm will come to you from a kiss."

"It could if it led to more."

"Would you allow it to lead to more?"

Mercy could not believe her ears. Were all Indian men this direct? Even working for years at the trading post she had never come across a man that...no that was not true. There had been plenty of men who had been forward with her, who would have quite possibly forced their advances on her had John not intercepted. The only difference here was...was that she liked it.

~ * ~

Arrow walked for hours with the white woman silently following him. He inwardly cursed himself. He was attracted to her. There was no denying it. He had been since the moment he had laid eyes on her and she had waited on him at the trading post. She had not acted like he was a dirty Indian and less than her. She had treated him like a man and an equal.

She made him feel like a man. He had never received that reaction from a woman, not even Gageagaono women, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He had no doubt that she would be upset upon reaching his village. They would be there in less than a day. Time meant nothing in the forest, it flew by fast, too fast. He had hoped to eventually tell her the truth. He had hoped that she would be grateful and go willingly, but he knew he was only fooling himself and this was a terrible plan; the worst mistake of his life. Now it was too late, and he had no other choice but to follow through.

He halted for the night, told her to stay where he instructed and went hunting for something for the both of them to eat. He was almost surprised to find her still where he told her to wait. Even more surprising, she had built a fire and a spit to cook his catch.

"You did not start a fire. Why?"

She looked up at him as if she had done something wrong. Quite the opposite.

"I waited until you came back in case there were others who would see the smoke."

That was the exact reason he would not have wanted her to start a fire and he was astounded that she had the foresight of thinking this through. Never would he have even believed that a white woman would be that sensible.

At a loss for words, he nodded then proceeded to gut the rabbits he had snared.

"Do you want me to do that for you?"

"You know how to dress a kill?"

"Of course."

She surprised him. He had always assumed white women were lazy and knew nothing of how to prepare food.

She took the knife from him and proceeded to gut the rabbit. He knew he was a fool for allowing her to take his weapon. There was no telling if she would later try to use it on him. Yet he watched her. She intrigued him.

"How do you know how to do that?"

"I've been doing this all my life." She looked at him as if he were crazy. "How do you not eat if you don't do this?"

"I thought white woman begged their men to cook for them?"

Her expression told him that he had clearly angered her.

"What is life like for you?" She suddenly wanted to know more about him, if he had a home, what it was like. If he had family, what they were like. She had a feeling his life was entirely different from hers, and she could not even imagine it.

He shrugged. "Like any other life, I suppose."

"Are you married?"

"I am alone."

There was sadness in his voice. She wondered if he had lost someone. Somehow she thought that he had.

"It hurts to lose someone."

"Did you love your husband?"

"Yes." She was surprised that tears did not come, and she felt immediately guilty that they did not. She had cried for months after Trevor's death. Then gradually the grief turned to anger. A desire for retribution grew. She saw how the women and children of this war suffered, and Trevor's death had brought that home to her. If she didn't try to do something to stop it her grief would surely kill her.

"How long has it been?"

"Over a year."

"Enough mourning period."

She did not like his comment, but she did not think he had said it to hurt her. Quite a few of the customers of the trading post had mentioned that a year was long enough to remarry. Mercy had had suitors come, knew they were only at the trading post because they knew she was once again single, but she felt no desire to get to know them better. Truthfully, she didn't know if she would ever again meet anyone she would even want to marry.

But you kissed this man. Surely she felt something toward him or she would not have so wantonly kissed him and desired for more.

"Do you want to be with another man again?"

His question did not surprise her considering how direct his other questions had been toward her.

"Maybe. I don't know. If he were kind, I suppose."

He grunted.

"What does that mean?"

"Kind."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Women claim to want kind then they are the ones who leave you."

His comment surprised her, opened up a world of vulnerability in his harsh exterior. Someone had hurt him deeply. A wife?

"Are you still with her?"

"No."

Mercy swallowed. She wondered now if this was why he had kidnapped her. Did he want her to be his? Panic formed in her stomach. She had a life to live in German Flats. Such as it was that life was hers. She did not want to change it.

"Is that why you took me?"

"No." he quickly answered.

Mercy looked away, suddenly feeling foolish. Of course he didn't want her. They were from two different worlds. Disappointment washed over her, surprising her and making her doubt all senses. What was wrong with her? She did not want to live her life in his world with strangers, with people from totally different cultures, people who would likely rather kill her by torture than look at her.

"Then why did you take me?"

"Do you trust me?"

She had kissed him, lusted over him, but she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. "Absolutely not."

"What will it take to make you trust me?"

"Why would you want me to trust you?"

"For what I need you for will require your trust."

Suspicion raised the hairs on the back of Mercy's neck. Trust him? Was he serious?

She had had it. She stood, faced him head on. "You either tell me what you want with me or I walk out of here now."

"I cannot do that."

Mercy didn't care if she had no idea where she was going. This was ridiculous and she only had herself to blame for not running away sooner.

She immediately took off through the trees, running as fast as her stamina would allow. Arrow was quick on her heels. She cut through branches, slicing her face and arms on the briars.

He caught up to her. Strong arms grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him. She kicked and punched, slamming her elbow hard in his gut.

He released her and she ran. Almost immediately he grasped her again, knocking them both to the ground. The air went out of her as he landed hard on her back. He flipped her over, straddled her, his knees on both sides of her. He pushed her arms up and over her head, holding her down with his muscular body.

"What do you want with me?" She flailed under his grip.

"Be still."

"No!" She kicked hard, slamming her knee in his stomach. It didn't even phase him.

His grip was no match for her. She didn't even know how he managed to grab the rope so fast, but in one swift motion he had her arms tied at the wrists above her head.

"Stop kicking or I will tie your legs."

"You tie my legs, how would I walk?" She fought the urge to cry. She hadn't come all this way to die like this.

"I am not going to hurt you. There is one sleep and we will arrive at my village come dawn."

"So you can kill me? Just do it now and get it over with."

"Stop kicking."

"No!" She spat in his face. Terribly unladylike but she did not care. "I won't go to your village. What do you plan to do? Sell me off to your savages?"

"We are not savages." He got off her, pulled her up to her feet by her bindings. "You will see."

"I will see nothing. I won't go."

"You do not have a choice."

"Life is about choices. You do not control me."

"I do not want to control you. I wish for you to stay."

Mercy stopped fighting. "Stay? At your village?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You were a mother."

Mercy just looked at him.