Through the Fire (Native American Warrior series)

CHAPTER ONE

June 1758, the Colonial Frontier, the Allegheny Mountains of Western Virginia

     Reining in her mare, Rebecca Elliot patted its heated neck and gazed up at the blue-green ridges looming above her like the storm swells of an uncharted sea. The primal beauty of the Alleghenies awed her unlike anything else she had ever seen. Still, the breathtaking grandeur couldn’t overcome her gnawing apprehension, in spite of the two dozen frontiersmen riding in a protective phalanx on every side. Mountains were decidedly wilderness and as unfamiliar to her as might be caverns hidden deep within the earth. Even the scent was different here, an earthy musk as ancient as the giant chestnuts, and older.

     A bird’s high-pitched cry shrilled overhead. Rebecca glanced up to see a red-tailed hawk plummet through the blue. She caught her breath as it snatched a hapless dove on the wing. Buff-colored feathers exploded in a small cloud, then, nothing. Limp dove in its talons, the hawk flew out of sight.

      Chills prickled down her spine. How swiftly it had killed. What other predators lurked in this ocean of trees, and what did they regard as prey? The stout walls of the log cabin she’d passed by earlier seemed a haven; a sturdy fort would be safer still. The sooner they arrived at Fort Warden, the better. 

      Urging her mare into a canter, she caught up with her younger sister, Kate, riding just ahead of her. The winding road narrowed as it climbed into the mountains. Soon the whole company had slowed, forced to ride single file.

      High above the rutted trail, the tree branches met in a sun-dappled arch, charming if this leafy canopy were lining the stately avenue to a grand estate. As it was, Rebecca felt cut off from every vestige of civilization. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted, though, to escape her past and start a new life in the frontier? 

     No turning back now. Going forward was challenging enough with branches snagging her skirts. Rebecca freed her hem only to have a limb grab her wide-brimmed straw hat as she ducked beneath, pulling its ribbons tightly enough to choke under her chin. Halting the mare, she tugged at the satin ties, arching in the sidesaddle to disentangle her hat.

     “Easy, Ma’am,” Lieutenant McClure cautioned in low tones from behind. He guided his roan horse alongside hers. “Allow me.”

     “Thank you.”

     “My pleasure, Mrs. Elliot.”

     She studied the young officer in his homespun shirt, breeches, and worn riding boots. The angle of his firm jaw, roughened with brown whiskers, reminded Rebecca of her late husband, John. But no man could be as handsome as her English captain, she thought, with the familiar ache.

     Lieutenant McClure freed her hat and handed it to her. “Best leave it in your lap and keep your skirts tucked up.”

     Nodding,  she smoothed back tendrils of blond hair that slipped loose from the knot at the nape of her neck. “Tell me, does this first rise have a name?” To know it would make this strange land seem somewhat tamed.

     His watchful gray eyes met hers. “Shenandoah, Ma’am. Like the valley.”

     Roads running through the lush valley had led them here. “I’m told Shenandoah means Daughter of the Stars. Such a lovely name.”

      His mouth tightened. “Suppose so. It’s Indian.”

     Kate glanced back over her shoulder, the green bonnet framing her delicate features, warm brown eyes alight with curiosity. “Do you think we’ll see any Indians, Lieutenant?”