In 1757 a deadly common bond unites strong-willed Alice Winslow, a girl from New Hampshire Colony whose family was massacred by Abnaki Indians, and Nathaniel Hawke, a half-savage frontiersman who was raised by the Mohawk after his family was killed by a Huron war party.As England and France vie for control of the colonies with the aid of their Indian allies, Alice and Nathaniel embark on a dangerous journey through enemy territory to rescue a little boy being held for ransom by the unscrupulous Frenchman who was behind the massacres that have brought these two survivors together.On their trek through the New York wilderness they confront a charge of sedition, the ferocity of the warring Indian tribes, a bitterly cold winter, betrayal, abduction by the enemy and the harsh realities of life and death, only to be transformed along the way by the healing power of love and a simple act of mercy.
Excerpt
“Bet ya thought ya’d never see me again,” he said.
She shook her head, her red hair rustling in the night wind. “Chango said you’d find us.”
“Coulda kept goin’,” he said with a lazy grin, “but there were things I needed to come back for.”
“Yes. Your tomahawk and the belt of wampum.”
He smiled devilishly at her from across the fire. “Among other things.”
From where he sat crosslegged before the fire Chango rolled his eyes and got up. When he had disappeared into the night, Alice said to Nathaniel, “He doesn’t like me much, does he?”
“He likes ya better than ya know,” he said as he rose from his spot. He came forward and dropped to the ground beside her. Nodding toward the blanket, he said, “It’s a might cold. Do ya mind sharin’?”
Alice’s heart gave a thump in her chest. She made a little wordless sound as she lifted one end of the blanket and held it open for him.
He moved in close and drew the blanket over their shoulders.
A shiver seized her, not caused by the cold this time, but by the nearness of him. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to reveal with her eyes how desperately she wanted to lean against him, to be gathered into his arms, to feel his warmth and the safety that came from his strength. She could feel his gaze burning into her. Slowly she turned her face to him. The frosty moonlight caressed his face, sharpening the strong line of his jaw, etching his cheekbones and deepening the darkness of his eyes. His black hair brushed the shoulders of his deerskin jacket, catching the firelight along each strand.
She trembled from head to food when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek. He was smiling, the beautiful curve of his mouth teasing and inviting.
“Ya see it up there?” He leaned his head close hers and pointed upward to a star that shone brightly in the cloudless sky. “The love star.”
“Is that what the Mohawk call it?” she asked.
“No. It’s one of the few memories I have of my ma. She’d point to it and say, ‘See that star up there, Nathaniel? That’s the love star. It burns brightest when someone loves ya as much as I do.’” He looked back at her, his gaze lingering on her lips. “I got me a powerful urge to kiss ya.”
Alice lowered her gaze and blushed. She could feel his breath against her lashes, his finger beneath her chin lifting her face back up to his.
He kissed her.
She made a small sound in her throat as the taste of him flooded into her and the scent that emanated from his hair filled her senses to bursting. This was not at all like the powerful kiss in the alley in Albany, nor the desperate kiss of a man shackled in irons. This kiss was filled with heat and sweetness, with yearning, and the promise of so much more.
A hot need welled up inside of her. She reached up and touched his face. His skin was warmed by the fire, the flesh taut and smooth. Her hand moved to the back of his neck, to the long, dark hair that captured the scent of the forest and felt like thick ribbons of silk between her fingers. She gasped for air when his tongue met hers and his arm wound around her waist, drawing her up against his chest.
The sound of the wind was obliterated by the pounding in her ears. The frosty air was warmed by the heat rising from her body.
“Alice. Sweet Alice.”
His voice was hoarse and ragged against her lips, the sound of her name driving her beyond reason. She moved easily into his arms, eager for more of him, all of him. Her flesh jumped when his lips slid to her neck and nibbled at the tender flesh.
Touch me, she wanted to scream. Oh please, touch me.
But his hands remained firmly planted where they were, one resting on her hip, the other at the back of her head. She could feel his fingers quivering, as if he heard her silent plea and was battling with himself over whether or not to heed it. And then, he paused and drew back, leaving her flesh bare and aching for his touch.
He released her and sat back. “This ain’t the place for love-makin’,” he said, a tremor of regret rifling his tone as he slipped from the blanket and got up.
Alice’s cheeks burned scarlet, not from embarrassment, but from the rush of excitement that coursed through her. “I…I…you’re right.” She took a deep breath and pulled the blanket back around herself. “Montreal is a long way off, and—”
“We ain’t goin’ to Montreal,” he said.
She stared up at him, confused. “What are you saying? You promised to take me to Montreal.”
“The snow’s too deep and the waters are clogged with ice. The goin’ would be too rough.”
Alice jumped to her feet, the blanket pooling around her ankles. “But what about Billy?”
“Billy won’t matter if ya die of the cold, Alice.”
“No! You can’t go back on it. You promised!”
Nathaniel looked into her eyes where tears were already forming, the lashes wet and spiky. “We’ll have to wait out the winter.”
“Wait it out?” she echoed, her voice a shrill sound against the night. She could feel the panic rising in her blood. “Where?”
“At the Mohawk village. Me and Chango talked about it. We think it’s best to wait till spring.”
An owl hooted from a frost-filled bough. Somewhere deep in the woods a wolf howled, its call answered from far-off. Alice just stood there, her lips compressed into a thin line, a wave of disappointment washing over her. She drew in a long shuddering breath. Spring seemed a long way off. Just minutes ago she had been filled with heat and hope. Suddenly, she felt cold and lost, so lost, with no home to go back to and only uncertainty ahead. She lifted her face toward the sky. The love star was gone.
I wrote this novel several years ago, I self published and never had it to sell. I have decided to rewrite it and hope to get it published within a few months for people to be able to buy. I had a few copies and gave them to a few family members and
