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His deep voice was accented by a language she had never heard spoken, nor did she wish to. She would sooner allow a cottonmouth moccasin to slither over her hand than touch him and, recoiling in dread, she gave her head a violent shake sending her already tilted cap further askew. Her cousins might call him a friend, but she had no wish to associate with an Indian. Rather than respond politely to his friendliness, she stubbornly refused to welcome him.
"Let's just avoid each other," she suggested and, pretending that he did not exist, she looked away.
Hunter tried to console himself with the fact that Alanna had not fallen into hysterical fits, nor had she spit on him or lashed out at him with her fists. She had not reviled him with scathing insults he would never forget, but she had dismissed him rudely, and as he rose to his feet, he was sorry he had bothered to speak with her. Obviously she could think as clearly as he, but he could do nothing about the sorry conclusion she had reached. He walked back to where Melissa stood waiting for him.
"I tried," he told her, "but it was no use. She hates Indians too much to make friends with me."
"I'm so sorry," Melissa assured him sincerely. "I hope that her fears won't prejudice you against the rest of us."
"Not if her fears do not prejudice you against me," Hunter countered smoothly. He was uncertain what game this enchanting, blue-eyed young lady was playing, but was sufficiently intrigued to follow it through to its conclusion.
Struck with embarrassment, Elliott waited until Melissa and Hunter had begun to walk away before he sat down beside Alanna. "We need Hunter," he stated emphatically. "He knows the Ohio Valley as well as we know this yard, and without skilled Indian scouts like him, we'll never succeed in keeping the French off British land. I'd trust him with my life. Can't you at least be civil to him?"
Alanna adored Elliott, and to deny him anything hurt her badly, but that pain did not even begin to compare to the agony of losing her family to a brutal band of savages. The tragic deaths of her loved ones had created an open wound in her heart that would never heal. Elliott was asking too much, and tears of regret stung her eyes because she could not please him.
"When are you going out with George Washington?" she asked.
"We'll be leaving for Alexandria to join him and Colonel Fry at the end of the week. Can't you be polite to Hunter until then? That's all we're asking, I know it's a big favor, but can't you do it for Byron and me?"
Alanna shuddered. "No. I'll eat my meals in the kitchen and stay out of his way. That's all I can do. Please don't ask more of me."
Elliott sighed unhappily and rose to his feet. He offered his hand, but Alanna shook her head and remained seated, leaving him to feel torn between his loyalty to her and the common courtesy he had expected his family to show his new friend. It was an uncomfortable sensation, and desperate to win her support, he forgot how stubborn she could be and attempted a new approach.
"The French constantly encourage their Indian allies to raid British settlements in New England, and they are surely to blame for the Abenaki attack on your parents' farm. With Hunter's help we'll finally be able to avenge such senseless killings. Can't you be grateful to Hunter for making that possible, rather than hate him for being Indian?"
"I don't hate him," Alanna denied softly. "I just don't want to be anywhere near him."
Still wishing he possessed the eloquence to make her see things as he did, Elliott finally realized that no amount of logical arguments or politely worded pleas would bridge the moat of sorrow encircling his dear cousin's heart. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and with his shoulders bowed in a dejected slump, he followed Hunter and Melissa into the house.
* * *
Hunter was given a guest bedroom on the third floor. It had been painted with whitewash tinted with verdigris to achieve a pleasant green color. Dormer windows eased the steep slant of the ceiling and provided him with a fine view of the river, but he would have been far more comfortable quartered in the barn. Fearing the elegantly carved cherry wood furnishings would shatter beneath his weight, he sat on the floor until Elliott returned to escort him to supper. He and Byron had changed into clean blue-coated uniforms of the Virginia Militia, while Hunter had seen no point in donning another set of buckskins which would be indistinguishable from the deeply fringed pair he had worn upon his arrival.
As soon as they entered the parlor, Hunter was introduced to his friends' parents, John and Rachel Barclay. Unlike their fearful niece, they had had the benefit of a warning and had known they would be entertaining him at supper before they had to meet him face-to-face. Still somewhat nervous, their smiles were too quick, but having had no success with Alanna, Hunter made no effort to ease whatever fears about him they might hold.
A tall man, John Barclay took great pains to maintain his handsome appearance. He
wore the elegantly tailored clothes and expertly styled white wig a man of his wealth would be expected to own. Deeply tanned, his weathered skin made him appear slightly older than his actual fifty-two years, but he was still fit and attractive. His wife was a dozen years his junior, as petite as her daughter, and as beautifully groomed and gowned.
At a light touch on his arm, Hunter turned to find Melissa with a British officer whom she introduced as Ian Scott. The Indian recognized the name, but when her brothers had teased her about him, Hunter had mistakenly assumed Lieutenant Scott was also a member of the Virginia Militia. Ian's fair complexion was sprinkled with freckles, and the fiery red curls which escaped the confines of his wig at his nape lent him a boyish rather than properly military appearance.
"I understand you're an expert scout," the lieutenant said.
The Englishman had a charming smile, and although his hazel eyes danced with a mischievous sparkle, Hunter doubted the good-natured young man had ever made an enemy. He was obviously sincere in his praise, but Hunter was unused to flattery and unable to accept Ian's compliment graciously. "I certainly hope so," he replied, without realizing his response might be interpreted as arrogance.
Elliott, however, assumed Hunter was joking and laughed. "Don't let him tease you, Ian," he said. "He's known as the best scout in the Ohio Valley."
Hunter was positive that boast wasn't true, but when Melissa favored him with a delighted smile, he could not bring himself to deny it. Supper was announced then, and he hoped another topic of conversation would begin when they reached the table.
He and Ian were seated on either side of Melissa, her brothers took their places opposite them, and their parents occupied the ends of the elaborately set table. It wasn't until after John Barclay had intoned a lengthy prayer that Hunter realized Alanna must not have been expected to join them, for there were no empty places at the long table.
Insulted that she would not share a meal with him, he paid little attention to the conversation, unless it was directed to him. Having been away, Byron and Elliott both had a great deal to discuss, which kept Hunter's inattention from being obvious. He had eaten ham and sweet potatoes, but took note of how Rachel Barclay ate her meal in an attempt to appear to possess the same fine manners. Adept at mimicking the actions of others, he succeeded quite well in his ruse. He never drank wine, but either no one noticed—or if they did—cared enough to comment. The meal was flavorful, the company charming, but Alanna's absence made him fear he might always be viewed as an outsider in the Barclay home.
After supper, they returned to the parlor. Because the dining room chair had supported Hunter's weight without mishap, he had gained confidence in the strength of the Barclays' furniture, and took the chair Rachel offered. Rachel then played several tunes on the harpsichord, and at her brothers' urging, Melissa added three more. Both women were accomplished musicians, but Hunter's attention frequently strayed to his companions.
During Melissa's turn at the finely tuned stringed instrument, Ian Scott's expression mirrored his delight, while her parents' faces were aglow with pride. Byron and Elliott were seated in relaxed poses, and appeared to be enjoying themselves, too. Hunter tried to look as comfortable as his friends, but he preferred the lively melodies he had heard fiddlers play at Johnson's trading post. The parlor and furnishings were in soothing shades of blue, and sedated by the ladies' delicate harmonies, he soon began to yawn.
Equally tired, Elliott and Byron reminded everyone of how fatiguing their day had been, and begged to be excused. Hunter left the parlor with them, but while the brothers went upstairs to their rooms, he went outside to get a drink from the well. He had not really expected to find Alanna still seated there, but the fact she was gone struck him as another insult.
