"No, this has to end," Alanna beseeched him. "Haven't you even missed Elliott? He's dead."
Stunned, John halted in midstride. He looked around, half-expecting to see his younger son standing in the shadows, but Elliott was nowhere to be found. His expression filling with horror, he turned toward his niece. "How?" he rasped.
"Abenaki braves he fought last summer ambushed us in the forest. He had no chance," Alanna explained.
Screaming out her pain, Rachel clutched at her husband's shirtsleeve, distracting his attention from Hunter. Having been summoned by Polly, Jacob McBride came running around the corner of the house, brandishing the hammer he used in his forge. Seeing him, John nodded toward Hunter. "Kill him," he ordered coolly.
Jacob did not even inquire as to why John wished the Indian dead, before he assumed a menacing pose and advanced slowly. He grasped the hammer with both hands, ready to swing it at Hunter's head. His beard hid the width of his gruesome grin, but the twinkle in his eyes readily conveyed his lust for blood.
Randolph grabbed Alanna's hand to pull her back. "You dare not rush into the middle. One blow from that hammer would surely crush your skull!"
"You're making a terrible mistake," Alanna called to Jacob. "He can kill you in a dozen different ways."
Jacob responded with a rude laugh. "He'll never touch me," he boasted.
Hunter drew his knife. The blacksmith had no idea how close they had come to fighting on his first visit to the plantation, and Hunter did not waste his breath revealing that secret now. The blacksmith was strong, but so was the Indian, and he had the further advantage of being younger and far more agile. Within five minutes he had proven to everyone watching that he could cut Jacob at will.
Bleeding from a dozen minor cuts, Jacob continued to slowly circle Hunter. His strategy was simple: to lure the Indian in close, trip him, and then with one swing of the hammer, split his head open like a melon. The Indian was fast and cunning, but Jacob was so confident he would eventually win their contest to the death, that he scarcely felt the numerous scratches Hunter had inflicted.
Polly and her daughters were huddled together at the end of the porch, a fearful trio watching a fight they assumed could have only one ghastly end. Rachel, sobbing hysterically, had slumped to her knees, while John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, silently praying that Jacob would kill Hunter as slowly and painfully as possible.
Terrified, Randolph again attempted to draw Alanna away. "You mustn't watch this," he insisted.
"I can't not watch," Alanna replied. "I've already seen too much."
Randolph kept her hand in his, but that she could be so calm in the face of what appeared to be overwhelming odds against her husband, amazed him. She had always projected a ladylike reserve, but it was totally inappropriate now, and he was positive something was very wrong. "We ought to go," he pleaded again, but Alanna gave no sign of having heard him.
His attention focused solely on his bearded opponent, Hunter ceased to be aware of the comments passing between the spectators. It was now dark, but the lamps glowing in the mansion's windows cast enough light for them to watch each other's moves. A stocky man, Jacob's rolling gait reminded Hunter of a bear, but he cautiously kept well out of the blacksmith's reach, until he again wished to strike out with his knife.
This time, rather than a quick jab, he went for a long slash down Jacob's right forearm, and was rewarded with the first bellow of pain the man had uttered. The blood running down Jacob's arm made his grip slippery, and he had to switch the hammer to his left hand for a moment, to wipe his palm on his pant leg. Hunter tossed his knife back and forth between his hands, and catching the blacksmith off guard by using his left hand, he ripped the flesh down the entire length of Jacob's left arm.
His grip now slick with blood no matter what he did, Jacob let out a hoarse growl and raised his hammer high to strike Hunter a bone-breaking blow. Hunter, however, waited until the last second to step aside, and then brought his knife down with a savage thrust that pierced Jacob's right hand. He yanked out the blade while Jacob was still howling, and his taunting grin made it plain he would hurt him far worse on his next lunge.
"My god," Randolph whispered. "You were right. Hunter is going to kill the blacksmith, and
you and I can both swear it was in self-defense."
"Stop the fight, Uncle," Alanna begged. "Or Jacob's blood will be on your hands."
Believing Jacob still had a chance to kill Hunter, John shook his head. It wasn't until a few minutes later that a freight wagon rolled into the yard, and he saw Elliott's coffin in the back. In an instant the full force of his loss finally hit him. Two of his dearly loved children were dead, and when he at last realized that Jacob could neither cripple nor kill the man he considered responsible, he raised his hand to stop the match.
He then pointed to Alanna. "Go, and take your accursed mate with you. I don't want to see either of you for as long as I live. Thank God my brother isn't here to see how badly you've disgraced our family. It makes me sick to look at you." He stooped to lift his weeping wife to her feet; turning his back on his niece, he helped Rachel into the house and slammed the door soundly behind them.
Chapter 26
Alanna had not been physically thrown out of her uncle's house, which she had feared was a very real possibility, but her feelings could not have been more hurt. "What about your loyalty to me?" she asked in a plaintive whisper that went unheard and unheeded. She felt Randolph reach out to pat her shoulder, but it was not his comfort she wanted.
She looked toward Hunter, whose expression mirrored her pain. He had not understood her anxiety had such just cause, and the sorrow in his glance conveyed a world of sympathy. Unfortunately, she knew he needed sympathy as well, and she couldn't summon any. Hunter wiped his knife on the grass and replaced it in its sheath. He nodded toward the river, and she let him go.
Humiliated in front of his wife and daughters, Jacob McBride's anger continued to seethe. He had hated Hunter on sight, and when the brave started for the river to clean up, Jacob could no longer contain his rage. Unable to grip his hammer, he put his head down and charged him like a bull.
Even if Alanna had not screamed a warning, Hunter would have felt Jacob running toward him, for the ground trembled beneath his feet. He took another step, then spun, and reached out to catch Jacob's arm. Using the heavy-set blacksmith's own momentum, he hurled him ten feet across the lawn, where he landed on his back and lay as helpless as an overturned turtle.
"Go home while you still can," Hunter warned. "You've no quarrel with me."
Jacob had hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, but he was too angry to turn tail and run. He staggered to his feet and came lumbering toward Hunter, his eyes ablaze with the hatred burning in his heart. Dripping blood from his torn palm, he lunged for the brave's throat.
Hunter dodged Jacob's grasp and sent a bruising kick into the blacksmith's knee, buckling the joint and again sending Jacob sprawling. He then stood with his hands on his hips, as the blood-streaked man struggled to rise. When Jacob's knee refused to bear his weight and he slid back to the ground, Hunter drew his knife.