Her Cherokee Groom. Valerie Hansen

by enough ambient light to notice the rusty color of dried blood on part of the blade.

       Chapter Four

      Annabelle took as long as she dared to dress and prepare to leave the house. Part of her mind was spinning while another part felt numb. There had to be some way out of this dilemma, yet no answers came to her.

      Worse, she mused, if the authorities had recovered her note they not only knew her name, they knew to whom it had been addressed. That put Charles McDonald in jeopardy and made her hope he had not returned to the boardinghouse after leaving the Eaton garden.

      Everything, all their troubles, pointed back to the boy, didn’t they? Too bad the opinions of children were not given credence, even under normal circumstances. Certainly Johnny would not be listened to in a Washington court. He might, however, make a good emissary to his uncle’s group.

      Annabelle rapped on the wall between their rooms. An answering tap came quickly. All she said was “come” and he appeared at her door in seconds.

      “Did you hear?” she asked.

      The child nodded.

      “I need you to go to the Cherokees, tell them what has happened here tonight and warn your uncle. Will you?”

      Another nod.

      “Good. Be sure you do it secretly. Don’t run up the street the way you did when I was chasing you. You must be very, very careful. No one must see you or catch you. Can you do that and sneak back into this house later?”

      “Y-yes.”

      Johnny’s lower lip was quivering so she bent to give him a hug of encouragement before adding, “God be with you.”

      Placing a kiss on his cheek she straightened, tossed her braid to hang behind her and stepped into the hallway, knowing she was in the right and prepared to prove it somehow.

      By the time she was halfway down the stairs, however, most of her courage had evaporated like a drop of water on a hot day. She was determined to hide her fear, though. The less she looked and acted helpless, the braver she felt, so she did her best to stand tall, to face whatever awaited.

      * * *

      “I have to go now, to make sure she’s all right,” Charles insisted after he had listened to the boy’s story and sent him back to Eaton’s with another member of their group acting as guardian.

      Ridge shook his gray head. “You will stay here until morning when we will go together.”

      “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. I’m afraid it may already be too late.”

      “If you disobey you will cease to be under my protection,” Ridge warned.

      Charles had not anticipated that severe a reaction but he accepted it. “So be it. The woman would not be in trouble if she had not come to my aid. She saved my life.”

      “And now you will lose it by foolishness?” Ridge countered. “I had thought better of you.”

      That was the last comment Charles heard as he left the boardinghouse and hailed a cab. The horse seemed to sense his urgency because it was prancing as he boarded. “The Eaton house,” he shouted to the driver. “Fast.”

      He had to arrive, to intercede, before Annabelle was taken away. He had little doubt that she would be, given the attitude of the soldiers who had confronted his delegation, and his people were important diplomats. The young woman, by her own admission, was merely a ward, and one who was not wanted by the new mistress of the household. What chance would she have if the Secretary of War did not stand up for her?

      Perhaps Johnny had misjudged Eaton. Charles hoped so, because otherwise Annabelle’s chances of escaping unjust punishment were slim.

      If the party of lawmen and soldiers had not called his name and mentioned Annabelle’s lost note he wouldn’t have worried so much. Since they had, however, he assumed they had not only read his name but her signature, as well. They were both in trouble up to their necks.

      Yes, necks, he affirmed. The part of a criminal where the hangman put the noose.

      * * *

      When Annabelle felt cold shackles close around her wrists she nearly fainted for the second time. Only pride and an immense desire to present herself blameless before her foster father and Margaret kept her on her feet.

      The constable led her onto the porch by the short chain between her wrists, making her feel as if they considered her a dangerous animal rather than an innocent girl. Reality dimmed. If this was a nightmare it was the worst she had ever experienced.

      Pausing to get her balance on the top step she lifted her gaze. A curious crowd had gathered and most were craning to get a good look. Some onlookers actually pointed at her and called out insults.

      From the east, a cab was approaching at speed. The driver pulled hard on the reins. The horse reared. Women screamed. Men cursed and jumped out of the way.

      The door of the cab swung open. Annabelle gasped. Charles! No, no, he mustn’t be here.

      She saw him start to push his way through the crowd. There was no way he could hope to rescue her from all these armed men. However, he might be a good witness to her innocence in the future, if he survived and kept himself out of prison. John Eaton had promised to hire legal representation, yes, but she doubted he would be amenable to adding a Cherokee client to the venture.

      Given so little time and so few options she took a deep breath, looked directly into the crowd where Charles was and screamed, “No!”

      The instant he faltered and met her gaze with his, she shook her head and mouthed another, “No,” praying he’d take heed. She sensed his indecision and resisted being pulled down the steps.

      Once more she spoke, this time calmly. “No. Not now.”

      And this time he gave a brief nod in response.

      Heartened, she stood tall and descended until she stopped in the midst of the cadre of soldiers and civilians. The best thing, truly the only good thing, was that Charles McDonald had not rushed into the fray and joined her in chains.

      As soon as Johnny explained to his kinsmen and they understood her dilemma, she would somehow assure them she would not testify against any of them. After all, they were innocent, as was she. This was Washington City, where the law of the land stood strong. She would be fine. This was a mere glitch brought on by a mob. People who were not guilty did not end up staying in prison.

      * * *

      Charles considered going back to the boardinghouse but could not make himself give that order to the cabbie. Instead, they slowly followed the group walking alongside the wagon carrying Annabelle to the closest jail.

      He had to clench his fists and grit his teeth to keep from jumping out again and rushing to her rescue. He huffed, disgusted with himself. She had been right to stop him. Such a rash act would have been too stupid to be heroic. And it would have accomplished nothing worthwhile.

      Instead, he disembarked near the jail, paid the cabbie and sent him away while he infiltrated the milling crowd to listen to rumors. Clearly, a Cherokee presence at the river altercation was known and he was thankful his clothing fit city life. The only way he’d be identified was if somebody besides Annabelle happened to recognize him.

      Knowing she was held inside those barred doors made him want to pound on them with both fists. The more irrational claims he overheard about her character, the harder it was to control his temper, so he slipped away and circled the stone building, hoping to calm down enough to think clearly.

      Shadows absorbed him the way a placid lake smoothly covers her sunken secrets, and he easily reverted to instinctive oneness with nature.

      His shiny black boots sank in mud and fetid odors assailed his nostrils. He ignored everything.