Valerie Hansen - Her Cherokee Groom

“Sadly, true.” He closed and pocketed the thug’s knife, then dusted off his clothing and his hands. “All right. I’ll escort you both home and then go report this fellow’s crimes.”

“But, what if he gets loose and escapes while we’re gone? What if his friend comes back and frees him?”

“That can’t be helped.” Charles slipped off his coat and shook it, then draped it over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. This will help.”

“Thank you. My cape is ruined.”

“Since you saved my life with it I will be delighted to replace it.”

“I can’t let you do that. What would people say?”

“That a gallant lady sacrificed her cape to rescue the victim of a mugging?”

“I hardly see my part as being gallant. I was merely trying to keep the fight fair.”

That made him laugh. “Have it your way. Just please allow me to buy you a new cape.”

Annabelle sighed. “I suppose that can be arranged, if you insist. The Eatons always use the same wonderful seamstress, a Miss Mills. Her shop is in Arlington, but...” Her eyes widened and she faltered, staring up at her stalwart companion. “Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of what?”

“No one knows I ventured out tonight. If Mrs. Eaton finds out from the dressmaker that I need a new cape, she will be furious with me. And perhaps with Johnny, too.”

“Then we’ll simply keep this incident to ourselves and I’ll pay Miss Mills to do the same when I engage her,” Charles promised. “Right now, I think I should see you home so you can go back inside as if nothing has happened.”

“I never lie.”

“Then you are a truly exemplary lady,” he said, sounding amused. When he looked down at Johnny, however, his countenance sobered. “You will do as you’ve been told and stay out of trouble, Tsani. This is your home now and you will honor our tribe’s promises. Understand?”

Annabelle saw the child nod and bow his head as if the weight of the world lay on his thin shoulders. Poor little thing. Truthfully, it would be just as well if she were not sent off to boarding school. Johnny needed her there.

Her thoughts whirled and danced like moths drawn to a glowing lantern. She had prayed for guidance, assuming the answer lay merely in the choice of an alternate school. Now it was beginning to look as if her answer to those prayers was a resounding no, but for a very good reason. One that certainly countered the disappointment.

Shivering as the excitement wore off and weariness lay heavy, she was thankful for many things. One was the Cherokee ambassador’s strong arm around her shoulders and his strength to lean against.

Having been warned against allowing any grown man to touch her thus, she was terribly confused. Surely those admonitions did not apply to her current situation.

Nothing that felt this right, this perfect, could possibly be wrong.

Chapter Three

“Were so many lamps burning in the house when you left?” Charles asked, pausing with his little group before escorting them back across New York Avenue.

Annabelle shook her head. “No. Mrs. Eaton usually does needlework in the evenings and Mr. Eaton sometimes reads the newspaper or personal communications from the president, but the rest of the rooms are rarely lit.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. I suspect they have missed you already.”

“Oh, no.”

“It may not be as bad as it looks. I suggest you and the boy go back inside alone, though. Being seen with me will probably not be to your advantage.”

“We did nothing wrong.”

“You and I know that. Others may be harder to convince and I’m not looking forward to being lynched on my first diplomatic mission.”

“Surely, if I tell the family you have assisted me they will understand.”

“To do that you’d have to admit to having gone out after dark. Alone. Are you sure that’s wise?”

She looked so crestfallen he had to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going straight to my elders to report the attack by the river. You go inside and tell the Eatons you and the boy just stepped out into the garden. That won’t be a lie.”

“All right.”

As he reclaimed his coat she tilted her face up to him and he could see moisture sparkling on her lashes. Against his better judgment he gently took her hands, noting that she was trembling. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait right here until you’re safely inside.”

“Thank you for seeing us home.”

“I should be the one thanking you for saving my neck. I’m sorry about your cape. I’ll send a messenger to the dressmaker for you first thing in the morning.”

“A cape was a small price to pay for our victory over evil.”

Let her go, his mind insisted. Step away from her and forget you ever met Annabelle Lang.

But he would not, could not, do so. Although he assumed that this goodbye would be their last, he also knew she would linger in his thoughts and in his dreams for a long, long time. Being so taken with this innocent beauty had not only been a surprise, it had left him questioning his future without her.

That notion was beyond ridiculous, of course. Even if he happened to be sent to Washington again, chances were good that Eaton would forbid them to court properly, meaning he would be fortunate to encounter her at all.

That was one way in which Cherokee courtships and marriages were better. All a couple basically had to do was share a meal and exchange blankets and they were considered wed. Many of his kinsmen partook of two ceremonies, the Christian one and the tribal one, thereby satisfying both factions.

What was he thinking! Charles asked himself, coming to his senses. He barely knew this girl.

I’m far from home and lonely, that’s all, he insisted. There’s nothing wrong with me that being back in Georgia where I belong won’t fix.

He purposefully released Annabelle’s hands and stepped away while donning his coat. To his chagrin the fabric retained her warmth and a trace of a sweet scent like roses. Just like Annabelle’s hair.

“You’d better go in,” Charles said, sounding more brusque than he’d intended.

She bowed her head demurely. “That’s wise. Good night. And God bless you, sir.”

“He did that when He sent you to my aid.”

“Perhaps because in my prayers I had asked to be of help to you and the boy. Are you a Christian, then?”

“Yes. I went to the missionary school.”

Her smile was so sweet, so tender, all Charles could do was stand there and watch her walk away. And with her went a tiny portion of his heart despite his firm decision to remain stoic.

* * *

Lucy, the heavyset, dusky-skinned cook, was in the kitchen poking the ashes of the stove to get them to ignite fresh fuel when Annabelle and Johnny entered. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Land sakes, girl. Where you been? Mr. John is tearin’ his hair.”

“I—we—stepped out into the garden to look at the stars.”

“Then why didn’t you come when he hollered for you?”

“I guess I didn’t hear.” Annabelle’s guilty conscience nagged at her to explain further. If she hadn’t had little Johnny to protect she would have confessed without delay.

“Well, get in there and let the mister know you’re all right. After the trouble tonight he’ll surely be glad to see you.”

“Trouble? Because of me?”

“Mercy, no.” The cook’s coffee-colored forehead knit above graying brows. “Somebody done made off with that fancy silver tea set the missus got from them Indians.” Her gaze darted to the boy, then quickly back to Annabelle. “He be with you all the time?”

“Yes. Of course he was.”

“If you say so. But Mr. John, he was plum mad, ’specially when he couldn’t find neither of you.”