Page 20 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

20

T hey reached the river just before lunch the next day. The sight of it caused Bryony’s eyes to burn in a way they hadn’t when Richard fell to his death. Just a few weeks ago, she wondered if she’d ever see the Stikine or Iskut Rivers again, if there was any chance she’d make it back to Washington, DC.

But here the river was, swift and strong as the Iskut flowed north through mountains and forests until it finally reached the Stikine and flowed into the ocean.

Mikhail wasted no time getting them settled in their canoes. He barely gave them the chance to snag a few bites of jerky while he loaded everything into two of the four canoes. They’d be leaving the other two on the bank, the one Jack Ledman had taken, and the one Richard had used on the way in. But Mikhail didn’t seem concerned.

They had one goal and only one goal now: to paddle down the Iskut before it iced over.

After a few minutes of discussion, Mikhail decided that she, Heath, and Dr. Ottingford would ride in one canoe, and her father, the trunk, and Mikhail would take the other.

Though he didn’t say anything about the canoes being too heavy after being loaded with everyone plus the trunk and their other supplies, she could tell he didn’t like it. But Mikhail was the only one proficient enough to handle a canoe by himself, and he didn’t trust her or Father or Dr. Ottingford to steer one from the back. So they all piled into two canoes and set off just after lunch.

The air seemed colder than the day before, and even though Mikhail had said it would be raining at the river, the rain had changed to snow. But at least the river valley was shielded from the winds they’d fought while crossing the mountains, and the snow drifted from the sky in lazy flakes rather than fierce ones that had obscured their vision.

Everyone seemed happy to be on the river. Or at least everyone except Heath. He sat in the back of the canoe, rhythmically dipping his paddle into the water without saying so much as a word.

They’d been in the canoe for an hour or better before she finally turned to him. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Don’t much feel like talking.” Heath kept his eyes pinned to the shoreline as he dug his paddle back into the water.

She tried to offer him a smile. “I assume you’re upset about Richard, and I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Heath narrowed his eyes at her. “For someone who just lost her fiancé, I’d expect you to be a little more distraught.”

She stiffened. “First, he wasn’t my fiancé. And second, I’m plenty distraught.”

Except she wasn’t. She hadn’t even cried over his death, but Heath was processing the loss differently than she was. His eyes had been wet for most of the hike to their camp spot yesterday evening, and that morning he’d gone off by himself while the rest of them had eaten breakfast.

She couldn’t blame her brother for being upset. Richard had been his best friend for over two decades. They’d known each other since they were boys, and Richard had even gotten Heath a job with the Department of the Interior.

“I just wish Richard had listened to Mikhail yesterday. Then maybe he would still be alive.”

“And I wish Amos had been next to Richard when he lost his footing, like he should have been,” Heath snapped.

She twisted around for a better look at her brother. “You’re upset Mikhail didn’t stop Richard from falling?”

“He’s the most famous explorer in Alaska. It’s his job to keep everyone safe.”

She stiffened. “Which he would have done had Richard actually listened instead of rushing onto the bridge and then stopping. Mikhail told him to keep moving and look ahead, but he didn’t. Didn’t you see it? Richard just stood there, refusing to listen, until he stumbled.”

“Maybe Richard felt something about the bridge was unsafe.” Heath dipped his paddle into the water again. “We didn’t hear everything they said to each other over the gorge, only the part Mikhail shouted because Richard started to cross before Mikhail was ready.”

“That alone should tell you the fall was Richard’s fault. He didn’t listen to Mikhail from the beginning.”

“Why should he? Richard had just as much experience in the wilderness as Mikhail.”

Her hands dug into the sides of the canoe. “No, he didn’t. It wasn’t even close. Mikhail understands the land. He can build a fire in the rain and hunt for our dinner in under half an hour. The only thing Richard knew how to do was complain and look for gold. We were starving after Jack died because he didn’t have the first clue how to get food.” How could her brother even compare the two?

“Fine. Maybe you’re right,” Heath muttered, his jaw tight. “But that doesn’t change the fact that something happened between Richard and Mikhail over the gorge, and now Richard’s dead, and everything is ruined.”

“I don’t know why you think everything is ruined. And as for what happened between Richard and Mikhail, we might not have heard every word they said to each other, but it’s not hard to imagine.” They were passing the base of a mountain that towered over the water, and it would have been beautiful...had she not wanted to climb over the packs separating her and her brother and wrap her hands around his neck. “Richard decided to argue with Mikhail, because that’s all Richard ever did where Mikhail was concerned. Then at some point in the argument, he lost his footing. We all saw Mikhail lunge for Richard to keep him from falling. And while I’m sorry he’s dead, I can’t blame his death on anything other than his obstinance.”

“I agree with Bryony,” Dr. Ottingford said from the front of the canoe.

Bryony whipped her head around to look at the scientist, her cheeks warming despite the cold air. So much for being quiet enough that only Heath could hear her.

“Richard knew everyone was upset with him for hiding the fact he was looking for gold. Before that, he was petulant and selfish,” Dr. Ottingford continued, craning his neck to blink at them from behind his thin wire spectacles. “And yesterday he picked the wrong location to pitch one of his fits. He probably did so on the middle of the bridge because then none of us could hear him. But he wasn’t paying close enough attention to where he was at, and he tripped over one of the branch nubs. I saw Mikhail try to grab him before he fell, just like Bryony did. The only person who should be blamed for Richard’s death is Richard himself.”

“Well, you better hope the rest of the Caldwells see it that way.” Heath plunged his paddle into the river with enough force that water splashed against the side of the canoe. “Because you can rest assured they’ll demand a full investigation into Richard’s death.”

Bryony crossed her arms over her chest. “They can investigate all they want. The only thing they’ll find is that Richard picked the wrong place to throw one of his petty little fits.”

And they would. Even if Heath thought something more might have happened on that makeshift bridge, she, Dr. Ottingford, and her father were all witnesses to what had transpired. And Mikhail would certainly have a rational explanation for what happened. She hadn’t asked him about the details last night after his nightmare, but the man viewed his responsibility to guide their team with the utmost seriousness. And he’d tried to grab Richard before he fell, which had put himself in danger of falling too.

So no, she wasn’t worried about whatever investigation the Caldwell family might ask for. Surely four other testimonies would outweigh Heath’s.

* * *

Bryony barely spoke to Heath for the rest of the afternoon. Any time she so much as looked at her brother, all she could think of was how he thought Mikhail was responsible for Richard’s death.

The rational part of her brain knew that Heath would come to his senses after a day or two, but she still didn’t like the fact that Heath was so quick to blame Mikhail—nor did she understand it.

The river moved faster and faster as the day wore on, but even though they’d made good time, Mikhail insisted they press on until late afternoon, saying he wanted to camp as close to the canyon that lay upriver as possible.

She and Dr. Ottingford had switched positions in the canoe somewhere around the middle of the afternoon, leaving her to paddle at the front while he rested. By the time Mikhail finally signaled for them to stop, her arms burned, her shoulders ached, and her hands felt numb from hours of paddling. She didn’t know how Heath or Mikhail or even her father had paddled all afternoon without a single break.

The moment she stepped onto the sandy bank dusted with snow, she could have crawled into her bedroll and fallen asleep instantly, but Mikhail said they needed to set up tents, since he wanted to camp by the canoes and they didn’t have any trees to protect them on the beach.

So that’s exactly what she did, set about putting up her tent—until Mikhail approached her.

She picked up her mallet and was about to drive a stake into the ground when his gloved hand wrapped around hers, holding the mallet midair. “Are you all right?”

She turned her head to look at him, his large hand still covering hers over the handle of the mallet.

“I’m fine. Why?”

He didn’t answer, just stared down into her face with his haunting golden eyes. Then he shook his head. “Of course you’re not all right. You barely slept last night, and you look about ready to fall over. Here, let me finish this while you go gather some firewood.”

He tugged the mallet out of her hand, then nodded toward the forest lining the beach. “You shouldn’t have to go far. Gather some moss and small branches, the dryest wood you can find.”

She wasn’t about to complain. Walking through the woods would at least keep her awake a little longer. But had she really looked that tired? So tired that Mikhail had stopped putting up his own tent to come help with hers?

She pressed a hand to her cheek as she stepped into the brush that created a buffer between the beach and trees. She must look a fright.

And why did that matter? It wasn’t as though Mikhail had ever once seen her at her best. She hadn’t brought any fancy dresses into the wilderness, just serviceable skirts and trousers to wear beneath them so her legs wouldn’t get scratched as she moved through the trees. She didn’t even have any ties left for her hair. It had hung loose and free, a tangled mess that took her half an hour or better to brush each night.

And yet he still came up to her and offered to help with her tent and looked at her as though... as though... Well, she didn’t know precisely how he looked at her, only that it caused her entire body to feel warm.

She stepped over the ground, looking for small twigs and places where moss peeked out from beneath the dusting of snow, while ignoring the way her back and arms ached. Maybe they’d feel better after a night’s rest.

She tried not to take a long time gathering wood. The sooner Mikhail built that fire, the sooner she could pull her boots off and warm her frozen toes. But she ended up wandering deeper into the forest than she expected, looking for small scraps of wood that would get hot quickly.

When she spotted a fallen tree with dead branches scattered around it, she headed that direction. She had just bent down to pick up a couple more pieces when something rustled in the brush to her left.

She froze, every muscle in her body tensing, then forced herself to blow out a breath. The sound was probably a rabbit or squirrel, something innocent.

The brush rustled again, louder this time, and something innocent didn’t scurry out from the dark cluster of trees to her left. Oh no. What stepped forward was none other than an Indian man holding a shotgun pointed directly at her chest.

He spoke in a language she’d never heard before, and all she could do was shake her head. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry. I was just...” She swallowed, trying to force moisture into her mouth so she could finish her sentence. “I was just collecting firewood. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

He spoke again, and she hugged the wood to her chest. He wasn’t happy. That much was evident by the stiffness with which he held himself, by the way his words were sharp and clipped, by the serious glint in his eyes.

More rustling sounded, this time from behind her, and she had a sick feeling the Indian wasn’t traveling alone.

A metallic click echoed through the woods—the sound of another gun being cocked.

Dear heavens. How many guns were they going to point at her? Surely they didn’t expect her to try to fight them. What would she do? Throw a piece of kindling at the warrior’s chest?

Someone started talking behind her. She still didn’t understand the language, but there was something familiar about the timbre of the voice.

She shifted slightly, just enough to glimpse the speaker.

Mikhail. The breath rushed from her lungs in a giant whoosh. He was here. In the forest. Talking to the Indian with his own gun pointed at the Indian’s chest. He looked nothing like the man who had offered to help with her tent a half hour earlier. Everything about him was stiff and serious. His shoulders were tight, his eyes were sharp, and his jaw was set in a hard line.

But that didn’t deter the Indian, who seemed to be getting even more upset as the conversation progressed. Then two more Indian men stepped from the trees—also holding guns.

Like the first, they were dressed in furs and leggings, with beadwork adorning the edges of their clothing. Their hair was the color of the blackest night, and their eyes endless pools of the same shade.

One of them pointed his gun at Mikhail, but the third Indian—the youngest of the group—slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed straight toward her.

She’d thought her muscles had been tight before, but she could feel them turning into stone as the man approached.

“Stand up and stay still,” Mikhail whispered. “He wants to touch your hair.”

“My hair?” she squeaked.

“Just stand there, Bryony.”

She did as Mikhail asked, ignoring the fact that her chest suddenly felt as though it was filled with a thousand shards of glass, and the simple act of breathing caused pain to slice through her lungs.

The man approached her with deliberate steps, his dark eyes locked on hers as though trying to soak in every last detail about her. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid, and she pressed her armful of wood even tighter to her chest. It was probably ridiculous, seeing how the wood could do nothing to protect her. But at least it gave her something to squeeze.

The Indian man circled around her once, then slid off his fur mitten and reached out to stroke her hair.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

He slid his fingers through her hair a second time, then said something in his foreign tongue.

“I... I don’t understand. I’m sorry.”

He spoke again, but this time he must have been talking to the other Indians, because they both answered. Conversation swirled around her, but she could do nothing other than wait. Her palms slicked with sweat inside her mittens, and moisture beaded along the edge of her hair as the conversation progressed.

Mikhail finally spoke again in the Indian’s tongue.

The man, still touching her hair, glanced at Mikhail once, then reached down and unsheathed the knife hanging from his belt.

“Mikhail...” she gasped. “Are they going to... What are they going to do to us? Are they going to kill us?”

“No. They want to take you captive. I’m trying to negotiate your release.” His voice was flat and even.

“Negotiate?” she screeched. “You mean that taking me captive is a possibility?”

“There are three of them and two of us, and you don’t have a gun.” There was that calm voice again, as though he didn’t find the idea of being captured by Indians the slightest bit frightening.

“So if you can’t n-negotiate something they like, they’ll?—”

The Indian in front of her started talking again, his eyes roving over her hair and skirt.

“Bryony, he’s going to...”

But before Mikhail could finish, the man raised his knife.

She froze, her lungs forgetting how to draw breath.

Then he lifted a lock of her hair and cut it off near her chin.

“...cut off a lock of hair,” Mikhail finished. “As a keepsake. He’s never seen red hair before.”

“Oh, well, that’s... that’s...” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. All she knew was that her mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton, and her heart was ready to thunder out of her chest.

But the man seemed happy with his memento. He tied it with a piece of string, running his fingers down the lock of hair again before sliding it into a pouch on his belt.

Mikhail said something more to the Indian, and the Indian walked back to the other two. Then the three of them exchanged a few more words before walking slowly backward, their guns still trained on her and Mikhail as they disappeared into the trees.

The moment they were gone, Bryony doubled over, dropping the wood in her arms. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking or her breaths from coming faster and faster until her shoulders heaved uncontrollably. She plopped to the ground fighting to regain her breath.

“Hey, there, it’s all right.” Mikhail was at her side in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her to his chest. “Everything’s going to be fine. They let us go.”

She burrowed against him, pressing her eyes shut and letting his strength and warmth surround her.

But he didn’t hold her for nearly long enough. It seemed like only a handful of seconds before he released her and straightened. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we need to. Can you stand?”

She didn’t want to. She felt instantly cold without his arms around her.

“Bryony, angel, I need you to stand.” His voice was calm, but he was pulling her to her feet with brisk, efficient movements that she couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” she asked as she started gathering the wood and moss she’d dropped.

He bent to help her, moving at double her pace and filling his arms within seconds.

“It’s not a risk I feel like taking.” He held out a hand to help her step over the fallen tree.

“How did you know Indians found me?” She scrambled over the trunk, one arm still holding the wood.

“I didn’t, but I noticed their sign on the beach after you left. It looked recent, so I came to look for you.”

Of course he had. This was the man who looked at every death he encountered as a personal failure, even if he wasn’t responsible for it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have realized we’d run into some Tlingit once we reached the river.”

He was blaming this on himself? It hadn’t been his fault. He was the person caught in the middle, trying to keep everyone safe.

He turned and started toward camp, stepping silently around saplings and over fallen logs. His face settled into the expression he’d worn when she first met him. She couldn’t necessarily say it was harsh, but it was blank and stern and void of any emotion. There certainly wasn’t anything on his face that gave the slightest hint that they’d nearly been taken captive by Indians.

Her face, on the other hand, was probably wrought with emotion. The danger might have passed, but her cheeks still felt hot, and her heart was beating at twice its normal rate.

How did Mikhail do it? How did he appear so endlessly calm? If things hadn’t gone his way, they’d either be dead or getting hauled deeper into the woods, looking at spending the rest of their lives among Indians.

Or had the Indians planned to let Mikhail go? Was it just her they’d wanted?

A wave of coldness swept through her, and she stumbled.

Mikhail was there before she could fall, catching her and hauling her upright, even though he still held an armful of wood. “Are you all right? I’m walking too fast for you, aren’t I? I’ll slow down.”

None of the guides on any of her past expeditions had thought she was slow. If anything, they’d been impressed with how easily she kept up with the men. But Mikhail made any athletic ability she had seem laughable.

She pushed away from him. “You don’t need to apologize. I should have done a better job watching where I was going.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Here. Let me take the rest of this wood.” He swept the wood she carried into his arms before she could protest, then looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. “You’re still frightened.”

Of course she was frightened. How could he not be? Unless... “Did the Indians want to take both of us captive, or just me?”

“Tlingit. They were Tlingit men, and they needed only one captive. They wanted you.”

“Me?” She stared up at him. “Does that mean you tried to barter yourself away as a captive so they would let me go?”

He let out a laugh, low and rich. “If only it were so simple, but no. I didn’t even ask. They wouldn’t have taken me. I’d be able to escape too easily. Besides, my family trades with their village.”

“So the Tlingit men knew who you were?” She wasn’t sure whether that made everything better or worse. “Then why did they want me? Was it because of my hair?” She reached up to finger one of the red locks.

Mikhail nodded toward the tracks they’d left in the snow on the way in. “I’ll tell you as we walk.” This time, he gestured for her to go first, then fell into step behind her.

“A lawman shot a man from their tribe last week.” His boots crunched softly in the snow. “They sent a group of five men to Sitka to negotiate with the governor, and afterward they went to a bar. From the sound of it, people were drinking a bit too much, and there was a brawl. The Marshal got called to break up the fight. He did so by firing a gunshot, but the bullet ricocheted.”

“And a Tlingit man died?” She glanced over her shoulder at Mikhail. He still made walking through the woods seem far too easy.

“Yes. The Tlingit believe that if one of their clan members is killed, compensation needs to be paid for the loss of life. If compensation isn’t paid, then the tribe is honor bound to take compensation in its own way.”

“Does that mean they wanted to take me to replace the man who was killed last week?”

“Yes. And it didn’t hurt that the youngest brave needs a wife. He was quite enamored with the color of your hair.”

“He was...?” Her words trailed off, and a shiver traveled up her spine. Just what would have happened if the youngest brave had insisted on keeping her?

“I freed you by offering to pay their asking price of two hundred blankets and a pail of beads.”

Bryony stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him. “You did what? Where are you going to get two hundred blankets? Am I even worth that much?”

A faint smile tilted the corners of Mikhail’s mouth. “Don’t make it sound difficult. My family owns a trading company, remember? And the various tribes are always wanting textiles of some sort. The only fabric they can make on their own is from fur and animal hides. It’s nice for cold weather but can get unbearably hot come summer. I told them to meet me in Wrangell in three weeks, and I’d have their blankets.”

She started walking again, her steps slower. “And if you don’t bring their blankets?”

“They’ll find a way to take revenge.”

That caused her to stop walking all over again. “Meaning they’ll capture another white person?”

“Either that or kill one. It depends on whether their village has use for a captive.” His answer was so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it made her chest tighten. Wasn’t he bothered by what he’d just admitted?

But he didn’t seem to be. He just caught her gaze and shrugged, as though bargaining for a person’s life was as routine as haggling over a bag of flour.

She, on the other hand, felt as if she’d fallen into some kind of pit that had dropped her into another world, or perhaps even another time and place. One where people bartered over lives rather than the price of flour. “I’m surprised they trust you enough to bring the blankets.”

“Had I been a stranger, they probably wouldn’t have, but as I said, my family trades with them. They know where to find us if something goes wrong.”

“So had I been with any other guide...” She didn’t finish her sentence. The thought was too disturbing.

Mikhail nudged her. “Hey, you did a good job back there. You were brave, you didn’t break down in tears, and you let a stranger take a lock of your hair. A lot of women wouldn’t have handled themselves the way you did. And now the problem has been solved. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

“Nothing to worry about? What if another group of Indians finds us? What if the next one won’t let you negotiate? What if I end up—” She clamped her mouth shut, because while she might have staved off her tears in front of the Tlingit warriors, she was ready to let them burst now.

“Stop.” He set the pile of wood down and wrapped an arm around her again, tugging her back against the warmth of his chest. “I already agreed to compensate the clan for the man who died. They won’t ask us to pay the price a second time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

She shook her head, still not certain she understood everything Mikhail had just done for her, only that he made it all seem trivial. But saving her from a life of captivity—from forced marriage to a strange man from a different culture—wasn’t nothing.

And that made her wonder whether he understood how big of a difference he made in the lives of others. Whether he ever lay in bed at night and thought about the people who were alive because of him.

Or if, like last night, he fell asleep and dreamed only of the times he’d failed.