nothing to pay you with now, but later—when I earn money—I can give you a reward.”
“And if I take you back to the English, you will be free?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly, but—”
Wolf Shadow seized the mule’s bridle, moving so quickly that he startled Fiona into crying out. “Do not lie to me, woman! Never lie to me.”
His eyes were like glowing coals. Gooseflesh rose on Fiona’s arms as his angry gaze scorched her bare skin. “I’m not lying,” she protested.
“Jacob Clough sold you to the white trappers, but they did not take your indenture papers. You belong to Nigel or to Jacob. You are not free. You are a bondwoman.” Wolf Shadow let go of the bridle, turned away, and began to lead the animal through the woods again.
“Yes, but-”
He kept his eyes on the forest ahead. “This indenture makes you a slave. Yes or no?”
She wilted under his attack. “I’m not a slave,” she argued. “It’s not—”
“A Shawnee woman is a free woman. No man tells her to come or go, to give her body or not. I will take you to the Shawnee. There you will see what freedom is, Irishwoman. There you will know the difference between the Shawnee world and the white.”
“I don’t want to go with you,” she insisted, leaning forward over the mule’s bony withers. “If you take me south—to the Chesapeake—no one there would know I was indentured. I could change my name. Start a new life.”
Wolf Shadow quickened his pace, and the mule broke into a trot. “The English law will follow you,” he insisted. “Jacob Clough will declare you a runaway. You cannot hide your hair or your face. You say that you know medicine. How many red-haired women apothecaries are there? The law may not find you in the turning of a moon, or in a season, but they will find you, Irish Fiona.” He stopped and whirled on her. “They will take you back to Jacob Clough in chains, and he will give you to a man like Nigel again. Is that what you want?”
“You can’t hold me against my will! I’ll take my chances with—”
The mule suddenly threw up its head and snorted. It opened its mouth to bray, but Wolf Shadow caught the animal’s nose and mouth between his broad hands. He clamped down hard, cutting off the mule’s breath. Eyes rolling, the mule struggled to get free, throwing itself back on its haunches.
Fiona tumbled off into the snow, gasping as she got a mouthful. She scrambled up to see Wolf Shadow drawing his knife along the inule’s throat. Covering her mouth to keep from screaming, she watched, horrified as great gouts of crimson sprayed the white snow. The animal’s front legs buckled, and it went down, eyes already starting to glaze over.
“Why?” she managed. “Why did you—”
Wolf Shadow silenced her with a dire glance. The bloody knife flashed again, cutting free the guns and a pack containing powder and shot. “Come!” he ordered, extending a hand stained red with gore.
Fiona shook her head. Her knees felt as though they were made of water. Her lips formed the word no, but no sound came from her throat.
His fingers clamped around her wrist, and he brought his face so close to hers that Fiona could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. “Run or die,” he whispered harshly, pulling away her red blanket and tossing it into a snowdrift.
She ran.
Her feet flew over the crusting snow as they sped downhill away from the dead mule. Leaping over fallen logs and ducking under branches, they fled through the still forest. Wolf Shadow never loosened his grip on her wrist as they ran. Despite the weight of the guns and pack he carried, Fiona could barely keep pace with him.
Run or die. Run or die. His words thudded in her head like the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer on a steel anvil. Heart pounding, she ran until her side cramped, until she thought her lungs would burst. Her breaths came in rasping gasps, and no matter how hard she tried, she was lagging farther and farther behind.
Without
“And if I take you back to the English, you will be free?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly, but—”
Wolf Shadow seized the mule’s bridle, moving so quickly that he startled Fiona into crying out. “Do not lie to me, woman! Never lie to me.”
His eyes were like glowing coals. Gooseflesh rose on Fiona’s arms as his angry gaze scorched her bare skin. “I’m not lying,” she protested.
“Jacob Clough sold you to the white trappers, but they did not take your indenture papers. You belong to Nigel or to Jacob. You are not free. You are a bondwoman.” Wolf Shadow let go of the bridle, turned away, and began to lead the animal through the woods again.
“Yes, but-”
He kept his eyes on the forest ahead. “This indenture makes you a slave. Yes or no?”
She wilted under his attack. “I’m not a slave,” she argued. “It’s not—”
“A Shawnee woman is a free woman. No man tells her to come or go, to give her body or not. I will take you to the Shawnee. There you will see what freedom is, Irishwoman. There you will know the difference between the Shawnee world and the white.”
“I don’t want to go with you,” she insisted, leaning forward over the mule’s bony withers. “If you take me south—to the Chesapeake—no one there would know I was indentured. I could change my name. Start a new life.”
Wolf Shadow quickened his pace, and the mule broke into a trot. “The English law will follow you,” he insisted. “Jacob Clough will declare you a runaway. You cannot hide your hair or your face. You say that you know medicine. How many red-haired women apothecaries are there? The law may not find you in the turning of a moon, or in a season, but they will find you, Irish Fiona.” He stopped and whirled on her. “They will take you back to Jacob Clough in chains, and he will give you to a man like Nigel again. Is that what you want?”
“You can’t hold me against my will! I’ll take my chances with—”
The mule suddenly threw up its head and snorted. It opened its mouth to bray, but Wolf Shadow caught the animal’s nose and mouth between his broad hands. He clamped down hard, cutting off the mule’s breath. Eyes rolling, the mule struggled to get free, throwing itself back on its haunches.
Fiona tumbled off into the snow, gasping as she got a mouthful. She scrambled up to see Wolf Shadow drawing his knife along the inule’s throat. Covering her mouth to keep from screaming, she watched, horrified as great gouts of crimson sprayed the white snow. The animal’s front legs buckled, and it went down, eyes already starting to glaze over.
“Why?” she managed. “Why did you—”
Wolf Shadow silenced her with a dire glance. The bloody knife flashed again, cutting free the guns and a pack containing powder and shot. “Come!” he ordered, extending a hand stained red with gore.
Fiona shook her head. Her knees felt as though they were made of water. Her lips formed the word no, but no sound came from her throat.
His fingers clamped around her wrist, and he brought his face so close to hers that Fiona could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. “Run or die,” he whispered harshly, pulling away her red blanket and tossing it into a snowdrift.
She ran.
Her feet flew over the crusting snow as they sped downhill away from the dead mule. Leaping over fallen logs and ducking under branches, they fled through the still forest. Wolf Shadow never loosened his grip on her wrist as they ran. Despite the weight of the guns and pack he carried, Fiona could barely keep pace with him.
Run or die. Run or die. His words thudded in her head like the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer on a steel anvil. Heart pounding, she ran until her side cramped, until she thought her lungs would burst. Her breaths came in rasping gasps, and no matter how hard she tried, she was lagging farther and farther behind.
Without
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