“But not without Ross.” Her fingers curled round his hard forearm. “I won’t rest without him.”
“Ross went north on the warrior’s trail. Once that happens it becomes harder to track him. There are countless paths to countless tribes. He might end up with the Iroquois, a far greater foe than the Lenape. But no matter where he lands, he’ll be considered a prize with his gunsmithing. At least he won’t burn.”
“Burn?” She’d feared it when taken, yet it spelled a blessed end once done. “Betimes that’s the better way.”
“Not if you’ve seen it done, nay.” He shut her down with his quiet vehemence. “If he’s not found he’ll make his way among them, be adopted. Mayhap he’ll run in time. But not all captives want to return to the white world. Some choose to stay red.”
His words kindled fresh fear in her heart. To lose a father and then two brothers, one of them to a people who would deprive them of his beloved presence, made her soul sick. Then to face the possibility Ross would betray them by remaining with the very people who’d torn them apart? The memory of him bent over the Indian gun, striving to repair a weapon of the enemy to be used against them, stole the last scrap of her composure.
Tears fell onto her torn bodice as an anguish she’d never known crowded in black as the night, seeping through every worn and weary part of her. Of all her brothers, Ross had hold of her heart. Would the Indians rob his sunny spirit? Change him into a dark-hearted warrior?
“You’ve got to go after him.” Her voice turned pleading. “Those other men in the rescue party—they aren’t you, Clay. You can find Ross. I know you can. Every delay spells disaster. I feel it.”
He shifted, the arm holding her more iron-like. “I’ll not veer from returning you home. I can’t risk the fort any longer besides.”
Dander high, she pulled away from him and lay down again. Though she was exhausted, ire kept her awake.
When they roused well before sunrise, she didn’t look Clay’s way but mounted her mare, spine stiff. Let him be stubborn and hard-hearted then. She’d not forgive him if Ross was lost. She’d rather her brother join Jasper in the ground. This infernal waiting and wondering would drive her mad.
Clay had sensed a stubbornness in Tessa from the first but had never felt the brunt of it till now. He admired her, loved her, but she was unbending as Hester in matters best left to him. All he could do now was pray for Ross’s swift return and contact Fort Pitt and other stations to alert them to his capture and hoped-for ransom. But it was a chancy matter with the utmost complexities.
As they rode east into the sunrise, the rift between him and Tessa took root. He felt it as keenly as the wound to his skull, but here, amid so many men in such haste to return to the garrison, there was no time to address it. He stayed at the head of the column, Jude as rear guard, their party with so many horses making a clamor no matter how hard they tried to pass unnoticed. The undergrowth had turned brittle in the heat, sun-dried with shades of autumn, the slight rain a distant memory.
His ongoing prayer was that Fort Tygart, though undermanned and worn down by the slightest skirmish, stood stalwart. How could he explain to Tessa that the good of many trumped the loss of one, even a beloved brother? Few withstood the horror of a fort’s fall, the once-proud pickets a heap of smoking ashes, mangled and mutilated settlers strewn like seed across acres of red ground. The day of the Swan raid, he’d read a report of the Indians and their allies bringing cannon against the westernmost outposts. Nothing could withstand cannon. All must surrender or die.
They rode on, through canebrakes and salt licks, along buffalo traces and deer paths, up and down till their horses grew lathered and clumsy, before coming to the north fork of the Buckhannon. Morning fog curled like smoke along the riverbank, blurring the lines of cornfields and fences as they neared Fort Tygart.
The fog was lifting in the face of the rising sun. His distant scrutiny of the garrison gave way to profound gratitude. God be thanked. No taint of charred timbers. No corpses. There the fort sat on the rocky bluff, bristling with guns, a lone shot and loud huzzah welcoming them in.
He gave a look over his shoulder, heartened to see a sort of pained relief on Tessa’s face as she rode behind him. He wanted her behind walls. He’d still not settled down at finding her gone, that frantic, gutted feeling not yet dissipated. And with this new chasm betwixt them, what next?
Through the fort gates they hustled. For once Clay was glad to see Hester rush forward and take Tessa to her cabin. Maddie and Jude accompanied him to his blockhouse quarters, where a good hour was spent hearing reports of spies and answering questions of their own mission, only partly successful with Ross and half the rescue party still missing.
As if expecting a crowd, Hester spread a great many dishes before them in her cabin at suppertime. The presence of Cyrus, Lemuel, and Zadock only reminded them of who was missing. Rosemary seemed more grateful than grief-stricken, having both a daughter and a new husband returned. They all sat at the burgeoning table at sunset, wrestling with Ross’s loss, Jasper’s death, and what to do with Tessa.
“You’ll stay here, of course, till you heal,” Hester announced with a pointed look at her great-niece and her bandaged hand as she heaped more fried corn on Clay’s plate. “Nothing short of the Lord’s second coming would send me back to the Buckhannon at such a time.”
Tessa sat mute, eating little. Rosemary tried to draw her out in conversation, but Tessa was having none of it. Westfall did most of the talking, asking pertinent questions about the rescue and what other Indian activity had been reported along the border. Clay answered as best he could, tiredness overtaking him and almost slurring his answers.
He hardly tasted Hester’s coffin pie, though he dutifully washed it down with coffee. At supper’s end, he said quietly, “Obliged for the fine meal.”
“Obliged to you, Colonel, for rescuing my daughter.” Rosemary looked to Tessa, whose bandaged hand was in her lap. “You’re in need of rest. A bath.” She shot Clay an understanding smile. “As are you, Colonel Tygart.”
His own rankness was not lost on him, a further deterrent to any romantic thoughts. Tomorrow, bathed and clearheaded, he’d make time alone with Tessa, if she’d talk with him. The set of her features said she might not. Mayhap by morning she’d come around.
He left to attend to fort business, a deep-seated restlessness taking hold.
The next morning he was back in Hester’s cabin again. How could he tell Tessa the latest news? He took the seat nearest her as she sat by the open window with her sewing.
“You likely saw the search party come in without Ross a half hour ago,” he began. They’d raised such a commotion no one could miss it.
She simply nodded, tears in her eyes.
“I can’t tell you how it grieves me to say that.” He knew, too, she blamed him in some way. She never said it outright, but he sensed it. What else would explain her sudden and prolonged coldness?
“I wish you’d gone after Ross instead of me,” she said softly. “I know you could have saved him.”
Was it not enough that he’d saved her? Aye, a captive brother was a grievous matter, but if she only knew what it had taken to reclaim her, not to mention Keturah’s possible loss and his own complicated tie with Tamanen. Knowing he’d lash out angrily if he spoke, he left without another word.
