Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) Read online

  Savage Destiny

  The Hearts of Liberty Series

  Book One

  by

  Phoebe Conn

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  SAVAGE DESTINY

  Reviews & Accolades

  "...the intricate plot shines..."

  ~RT Magazine. 4-stars!

  Previously Titled: Beloved

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-472-1

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 1994, 2013 by Phoebe Conn. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Fiction. Romance. Historical. American. Colonial.

  Cover by Kim Killion www.thekilliongroupinc.com

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  This book is dedicated to Julian J. Edney, my favorite Englishman, in grateful recognition of his friendship and support.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  April, 1754, Williamsburg, Virginia

  Had the Indian known the Barclay brothers lived in such magnificent splendor, he would not have accepted their invitation. Regrettably, now that their bateau had rounded the bend in the James River and the stately, three-story brick manor had come into view, it was too late to create an urgent need to be elsewhere. The Indian tried not to gape at the mansion he had mistakenly assumed would be a simple, wooden farmhouse not all that different from the long houses of the Iroquois.

  The Indian prided himself on being clever, but he had certainly outsmarted himself this time. An excellent trapper, he had learned how to speak English from William Johnson. One of the few honest traders, Johnson not only paid Indians what their furs were worth, he also sold them goods at fair prices. The Indian had learned that Johnson could be trusted, and because the white man spoke the Iroquois language, the brave had become determined to learn his. Not satisfied with that accomplishment, he had worked to master reading and writing as well. It amused him to possess those skills, when there were white trappers who had to draw a crude X for their mark.

  He found no humor in his present situation, however.

  The sun's late afternoon rays reflected off the imposing home's leaded windows in blinding flashes that pained him almost as badly as his injured pride. The Barclay brothers might have been eager to hire him to scout for the Virginia Militia, but the Indian doubted the rest of their family would welcome him to a home fit for King George. Determined not to be humiliated, he steeled himself to face whatever insults he might soon hear, without suffering a loss of dignity.

  A shout from the yard drew Melissa to the bedroom window. "It's Byron and Elliott!" she called excitedly to the quiet cousin who shared her room. Giving Alanna no opportunity to view the returning pair, Melissa grabbed the shy girl's hand and did not release her until they had left the house. Melissa ran on across the lawn toward the dock, but without her enthusiastic lead, Alanna's pace slowed to a hesitant walk.

  Eager to greet her brothers, Melissa had already thrown herself into Byron's arms before she noticed the buckskin-clad stranger removing their gear from the bateau. His back was toward her, and because of his rustic garb, she dismissed him as a frontiersman of little consequence, and hurried to hug Elliott as well. "I've missed you!" she assured them both. "With you and your friends away, being home has been excruciatingly dull."

  "I can't believe your Lieutenant Scott didn't come to call just because we weren't here," Byron teased.

  Not above flirting with her handsome fair-haired brothers, Melissa struck a coquettish pose. "I'll admit that Ian stopped by a few times, but he's your friend as well as mine, and don't bother to deny it."

  While the brothers continued to exchange playful jests with their sister, the Indian removed the last of their belongings from the boat, and squaring his broad shoulders, straightened up to his full height. Nearly six feet tall, he was Byron's equal in stature, and slightly taller than Elliott. The brothers had mentioned their sister, but had failed to comment on her remarkable beauty. One glance at the petite blonde in the pretty blue dress, was all the Indian needed to doubt that a lieutenant was her only suitor. He was curious as to what her response to him would be. Growing impatient to meet her, his attention strayed to the young woman who had accompanied her from the house.

  Unlike Melissa, she was not dressed in a bright silk gown with a graceful hoop skirt. Instead, she was clad in plain homespun fabrics in faded shades of lavender, and her skirt fell about her ankles in limp folds. Melissa's white cap was lavishly decorated with lace to provide a delightfully feminine accent to her curls, while this girl's unadorned cap appeared to have been yanked into place in a vain attempt to cover an unruly tawny mane. The Indian assumed she was Melissa's maid, but was puzzled as to why the attractive young lady would employ such an unassuming servant.

  Then the unkempt girl's gaze met his and the Indian ceased to ponder the question, for she had the most exquisitely beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Trained to recognize signs invisible to careless men, he could successfully track a stag through the heart of the forest, when others had given up in frustration or despair. How a man with his keen powers of observation had failed to discover at first glance that this reserved young woman was far more lovely than the Barclay's vivacious sister, mystified him. Her features were every bit as delicate and sweet as Melissa's, but her eyes held the promise of a depth of character completely lacking in Melissa's flirtatious gaze.

  Instantly deciding that he liked her, the Indian broke into a wide, charming grin. Rather than responding with the shy smile he had come to expect from white women, however, the girl's expression filled with anguish, and with a stifled cry of alarm she fled the dock and ran back toward the house.

  Startled by Alanna's hasty departure, Melissa stared after her until she had disappeared from view. It wasn't until she turned back toward her brothers that she saw the Indian's face for the first time, and realized instantly what had frightened her timid cousin. Rather than lash out at him for simply being what he was, she began to berate her brothers.

  "I believed you to be gentlemen, not insensitive brutes! Whatever possessed you two to bring an Indian here?" she asked. "Didn't you realize what the sight of him would do to Alanna?" As Melissa gestured in the Indian's direction, she was startled to find him studying her with a darkly insolent stare. She had never been that close to an Indian brave, and that this one was handsome was all the more disconcerting. He wore his thick, black hair tied at his nape in the style white men favored, rather than flowing free; so
it was no wonder that at first glance she had mistaken him for a woodsman.

  His attractive features were well-chiseled, and his smooth bronze skin unmarked by the tattoos she had seen Indians wearing in book illustrations. Her curiosity piqued, her eyes swept down his well-muscled physique, and she could not help but wonder if his sleek body were adorned with decorative patterns in places his buckskins hid from her view. Blushing at such a scandalous thought, her gaze returned to his face, and this time she smiled.

  "Do you speak English?" she asked very deliberately.

  "Some," the Indian replied, but neither his manner nor expression was friendly.

  An impatient nod from Melissa prompted Byron to introduce the Indian. "He's asked us to call him Hunter, which is far easier to remember and pronounce than his Indian name. I'm sorry," he then apologized to the brave. "That was our cousin, Alanna, who just ran off. She's the daughter of our father's younger brother. When she was small, she and her family lived in Maine. One day her mother sent her to the neighboring farm on an errand. She returned to find the Abenaki had raided her home and killed everyone. She came here to live with us then. She's always been shy, and while it's understandable that she'd be terrified of Indians, I thought because you were with us, she'd be all right."

  Melissa watched Hunter closely during her brother's explanation, but not a glimmer of sympathy showed in his dark eyes. His looks might be pleasing, but he had to still be a savage, if he were not touched by the horror Byron had described. "Alanna was only six," she added as she took a step toward him. She half-expected Hunter to back away, but he stood his ground.

  "The Abenaki murdered not only Alanna's mother and father, but her two younger sisters and baby brother as well. The Indians crushed their skulls with tomahawks. How great a coward does a man have to be to kill a six-week-old babe in his crib, or little girls who are only two and three? What honor can there possibly be in such barbarism?"

  "None," the Indian promptly replied. "But you must not confuse me with the Abenaki. I am Seneca."

  "All Indians are not the same," Elliott interjected. "The Seneca are part of the Iroquois League of Six Nations, and allies of the British. Byron and I are convinced we can trust Hunter, or we'd not have brought him here. We expected everyone to have confidence in our judgment."

  What the Indian inspired within Melissa was not trust, but a far more primitive emotion she dared not name. Fascinated by the darkly handsome stranger, she softened her objection to his presence in their home. "Yes," she agreed slowly. "Mother and Father will certainly welcome him, as will I, but you're asking too much of Alanna, and you should have considered her feelings, too."

  Justly chastised, Byron and Elliott bowed their heads in shame, and Hunter seized the opportunity to remove himself from what he considered a most unfortunate situation. "I do not want to cause trouble," he stated simply. "I'll find another place to stay until I'm needed."

  "No," Elliott argued. "You needn't go. I'll talk with Alanna. I can make her understand she has nothing to fear from you."

  Hunter recalled Alanna's muffled shriek, and doubted anything Elliott could say would make any difference. He was not used to becoming involved in the affairs of white men, but he felt very badly about the massacre of Alanna's family. He also believed he was partly to blame for the unnecessary fright he had inadvertently caused her that afternoon.

  "I want to come with you," he offered.

  "No, that's not a good idea," Melissa argued.

  "Why not?" Hunter challenged. "She is terrified of me, not Elliott. I'm the one she will have to learn to accept, not him."

  During their conversation, Hunter had revealed, perhaps unwittingly, that he spoke far more English than he had first admitted, and Melissa wondered what else the handsome brave knew and might attempt to conceal. "Well yes, that's certainly true," she agreed hesitantly. "But if you speak to her now, you'll only succeed in frightening her out of her wits, and that won't be good for either of you."

  "I want to try," Hunter insisted. "Take me with you," he again asked Elliott.

  Because Elliott knew the Indian to be an intelligent man with a gentle nature, he agreed. "When Alanna's troubled, which is quite often, she likes to sit out by the well. Let's look for her there first."

  "Wait a minute," Melissa begged. "Just in case Alanna doesn't respond as you hope, I think I should go along, too."

  When Elliott looked toward him, Byron shrugged. "There's no point in all of us going after her. I'll see that everything gets taken into the house. That way at least one thing will have been accomplished before nightfall. Where are Mother and Father?"

  "They had no way of knowing you'd be back today, so they went into town," Melissa explained. "They should be home soon though. Now let's go. If you two actually think you can impress Alanna favorably, you better start now, or you won't be finished by supper."

  "Yes, ma'am," Elliott replied, but when he added a jaunty salute, Melissa would have slapped him with the back of her hand had he not quickly stepped beyond her reach. "Come on," he called to Hunter. "The well's out back."

  The Indian followed Elliott toward the house with a long, fluid stride. He could feel Melissa watching him. Unlike her fearful cousin, her eyes were as blue as a cloudless summer sky, but Hunter did not enjoy being studied so closely. He was merely a man, like any other in his view, but it was clear Melissa considered him an object of curiosity, and he did not appreciate being observed so openly.

  Hoping to make her feel ashamed for staring at him, he glanced toward her suddenly, but she responded with a sweet smile, rather than the embarrassed blush he had expected. He reminded himself it was Alanna who had run from him, not this confident beauty who actually appeared to be inviting his attention. Indian women considered him handsome, but it always surprised him when white women did, too. Flattered, he had to force himself to recall it was not Melissa who concerned him now, but her tormented cousin.

  As they rounded the corner of the house, the variety of small structures clustered nearby came into view. There were perhaps a dozen buildings in all, each serving a specific need of the prosperous tobacco plantation. The kitchen with its large chimney was closest to the house, and beside it stood a circular brick well sheltered beneath a free-standing, shingled roof. A plank bench connected two of the posts which supported the roof, and just as Elliott had predicted, that's where Alanna was seated.

  She had looped her arms around the post at her right, as though she intended fighting anyone who might attempt to drag her away. The despair of her pose brought Hunter to an abrupt halt, and Elliott and Melissa stopped beside him. Not wishing to insult their family, the Indian was cautious in his choice of words.

  "Is your cousin merely easily frightened," he whispered, although they were standing too far away for his comment to be overheard by Alanna, "or does everything confuse her?"

  Immediately understanding the intent of his question, Melissa hurriedly came to Alanna's defense, but she also took the precaution of speaking in a hushed tone. "She's not crazy. Is that what you're asking?"

  Hunter glanced toward the slender girl huddled by the well. He could easily imagine the horror she had found after the Abenaki raid. Her house must have been awash in blood. The gore would have been splattered across the ceiling and dripping down the walls. Although Melissa had not mentioned it, he was certain Alanna's parents would have been scalped. No child should ever be exposed to the carnage Alanna must have seen, and Hunter would never fault her if it was more than a child's mind could sanely bear.

  When he looked down at Melissa, the hostility of her expression certainly did not invite him to explain, but he felt he had to make the attempt anyway. "Sometimes when people see awful things, they retreat into their minds, perhaps into whatever pleasant memories they have. They are not crazy, but too filled with grief to enjoy the company of others."

  Embarrassed that the Indian could describe Alanna's desire for privacy in such lucid terms, Melissa's expression softened
instantly. She had known precious little about Indians until she had met this one, but he was so enormously intriguing in both appearance and manner, that she now wished to get to know him well. "You're very kind," she assured him, "but Alanna is a capable young woman, who was tutored right along with my brothers and me. She's bright, and merely shy rather than reclusive or withdrawn. If only Elliott and Byron had had sense enough to tell her they had invited an Indian friend here for a visit before she saw you, I don't think there would have been any trouble."

  "We've already apologized," Elliott mumbled.

  "Not to Alanna," Hunter chided. "How old is she?"

  "Seventeen," Melissa answered. She followed the Indian's gaze and volunteered more information before being asked. "We're only a year apart in age, and my mother used to dress us alike. Alanna would still have as lovely a wardrobe as I do, but she refuses to dress attractively. She doesn't want attention from anyone, least of all men."

  "All men?" Hunter asked. "Even handsome lieutenants?"

  A slow smile tugged at the corner of Hunter's lips, and Melissa was amazed to find him flirting with her. Even more astonishing was how greatly she enjoyed it. Her mother would never approve, but after all, she was shopping in Williamsburg and would never know anything about it. "Yes," she responded after licking her lips with the insouciance she had discovered made most men nearly drool with desire. "All my brothers' friends are sweet to her, but she'll exchange no more than a pleasant greeting."

  "You two just stay right here," Elliott directed. "Let me talk with her alone first."

  Rather than argue this time, Hunter relaxed into a more comfortable pose to ease the wait. Obviously eager to make amends for the fright she had suffered, Elliott called out to Alanna as he approached, so she would not be startled when he knelt in front of her. From where Hunter stood, he could not make out Elliott's words, but his friend's expression was almost painfully sincere.