Free Rose's Pledge by Dianna Crawford, Sally Laity Page A

to the colonies. A shiver coursed through her at the unwelcome possibility.
    Thankful she’d had foresight enough to pack some necessities for the journey from England, Rose got up from the chest she’d used for a seat and dragged it over to the tarp. She’d use the scant bedding she’d brought with her, along with her cloak, to ward off the night chill. Her shawl would do for a pillow, and the trunk itself would provide whatever privacy she could hope for in such a situation. As to whether she’d get a wink of sleep in the company of so many strange men was yet to be determined—especially with unseen forest creatures prowling about. After heading for a nearby bush to answer nature’s call, she returned to her designated sleeping spot, swallowing her fear as the mournful howl of wolves filtered through the trees.
    Surely Mr. Smith and the others would keep their weapons at the ready, she assured herself as she tried to ignore the incessant chirping of crickets. The men seemed to be used to making their way through the wilderness. Down on her knees while she created her own small haven in the dark, Rose heard the hobbled horses in the meadow whinny as they’d done that afternoon, when they’d signaled the approach of riders. She paused in her work and peered over her trunk.
    Mr. Smith snatched up his musket and stepped out of the glow of the campfire, and the Indians melted silently into the shadows.
    Rose’s pulse throbbed in her throat. She’d heard tales of land pirates—and of savage Indians who tortured and murdered unsuspecting folks. Now she could only wait to see what sort of fate awaited this camp in the wilds. The temperature had dipped lower once the sun was no longer dominating the daytime hours, and a cool, pine-scented breeze wafted through the clearing, adding to her shivers.
    “Halloo the camp!” came a shout from the direction of approaching horse hooves. “It’s us. Nate Kinyon and Black Horse Bob.”
    Releasing a slow breath, Rose eased up in her hiding place behind the trunk as Mr. Smith and the Indians moved back into the firelight, their weapons now lowered. The silhouettes of two riders on horseback, followed by a couple of packhorses, met her eyes. And foolish though she knew it was, Rose had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.
    Mr. Smith, however, appeared none too pleased to have visitors. His expression in the erratic firelight resembled a scowl as the two riders in fringed buckskin dismounted. Rose couldn’t discern the newcomers’ features in the dark, but she recognized the taller of the pair as Mr. Kinyon. She focused on his familiar form, still appealing and muscular in the brushed leather clothing as he towered over her owner.
    “Thought you was headed downriver,” the trader said, his tone somewhat accusing.
    Kinyon shrugged, moving closer into the fire glow. “Been gone from home so long I figgered Ma wouldn’t recognize me anyway.”
    Rose noticed that the other frontiersman wore dark braids and had a lithe build similar to those of the Indians at the other fire. He gave a hearty whack to Kinyon’s back. “‘Specially in them fancy duds. Ol’ Nate looked like one of them parrots I once saw down in York Town. All bright colored and struttin’ up an’ down on some ol’ sea captain’s shoulder like he was the king of the realm.”
    Apparently still put off by their unexpected arrival, Mr. Smith gave a grudging grunt at the man’s levity.
    Mr. Kinyon swept a glance around in the darkness, taking measure of the camp. “Where’s our Miss Harwood, Eustice?”
    “She ain’t your anything,” the trader rasped. “Don’t be gettin’ any notions about her in yer head. But seein’ as how you two are here, yer welcome to stay. The more weapons the better.”
    Listening to the exchange, Rose felt silly crouched down in the shadowed confines of the tarp, but she wasn’t certain it would be prudent to stand and present herself.
    Mr. Smith made the decision