Red Bird's Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

cream-colored hunting shirt open at the neck. But his intimacy in the night left her bewildered, as did her disquieting response.
    Colin's presence was reassuring. He was about the same age her brother, Craig, would have been if he'd lived, eight and twenty. In a comforting way Colin seemed like an older brother and he had some control over these warriors, although the close bond between him and Wicomechee perplexed her.
    The Englishman held a sleeping little girl in his arms. Brown ringlets concealed her face and a striped blanket wrapped her. Charity hadn't seen any other captives taken. “Mister Dickson, whom have you got there?"
    Colin shifted his gaze to Charity. Sadness hazed the blue depths. “Lily McCue."
    Charity cringed. “What of Lily's family?” she asked, dreading his reply.
    Grim lines edged Colin's mouth. “Dead."
    Her stomach twisted in a sick knot. She envisioned Mister McCue lying in the field and his young wife crumpled by the hearth. “No,” she cried softly. “I liked the McCues."
    Colin blew out his cheeks in a heavy sigh. “So did I. One of the other war parties attacked them. I could in no way intervene for their lives."
    Charity sat up, feeling her aches from yesterday's ordeal. Helpless to alter the McCue's grisly fate, she fixed accusing eyes on Wicomechee. How could she, for one single moment, forget who—or what—he was?
    The fire in Charity's jewel-like eyes and the tremor at her pretty mouth told Wicomechee she sought a target to strike. He could stare endlessly at this English beauty, but had the distinct impression he was about to be attacked.
    She loosed the first volley. “How can your people be so heartless?"
    He bristled. Here was this glorious girl in all her ignorance daring to berate him. “You speak to me of caring, daughter of the Long Knives? Your people cause us much suffering, also to Shawnee women and children."
    "That doesn't make it right to attack ours, or unarmed men,” she flung back.
    "Would you have our warriors wait until your men stare at us down a musket barrel? And leave your women to birth an army of sons to grow up to fight us and steal our land?"
    She sputtered. “That's not what I meant."
    "Yet this is what I know. You have no understanding."
    "No. But I have,” his adopted brother, Waupee, interceded. “Man to man. That's how war should be conducted, if it must be. What chance have these helpless ones?” he asked, looking from the child he cradled to his woman still asleep beneath a dark blue blanket.
    Wicomechee's conscience chided him, but the hardship his people endured ate at him like a festering wound. “Shawnee anger is great, NiSawsawh ."
    "And you know I despise British rule in America."
    "The English will not allow us to trade for what we need. Without powder, shot, muskets, how are we to hunt, to eat? They must pay for the suffering they bring,” Wicomechee insisted. “Perhaps then they will hear us."
    Waupee shook his head glumly. “I despair of them ever hearing. Men in power are far removed from the harsh reality of life in the frontier.” Lily whimpered restlessly and he patted her back. “Hush, little darling,” he soothed, and spoke again to Wicomechee. “It is not they who suffer from the rage their scornful policies create, but these."
    "Many helpless ones are also stung when the hornets fly in anger. This, I too, regret,” Wicomechee conceded.
    Charity's baffled gaze slid between them, settling on Wicomechee. “What will happen to Lily?"
    He pointed across the cave to the warriors clustered in sunbeams and shadowed corners. The mood of the group was relaxed, partly due to the strong drink taken from homesteads. The casks had been tapped. Braves poured the brew into wooden and stoneware cups, sharing the stash between them. He singled out one man with the sinewy look of a lean wolf.
    "Wacuchathi took her captive to adopt in place of the daughter he lost to white man's sickness."
    Charity glared at the unaware brave.