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He was obviously proud of that accomplishment. In sharp contrast to the bronze of his skin, his teeth were very white, creating one of the most charming grins Melissa had ever seen. She was unsure just how much the appealing brave did know, but he possessed a confident manner she could not help but admire. She was pleased to have him for an escort. It would surely be the talk of the town by evening, and she hoped the tale would prompt another visit from Ian Scott. She was fond of the English officer, as he was far more entertaining than any of the young men she had known since childhood.
Upon entering Williamsburg, the Barclay brothers continued to lead the way down Gloucester Street. It was now mid-morning, and they waved and called out greetings to acquaintances passing by on the street. Their first stop was to inquire if there had been any change in the militia's plans, and to introduce Hunter to the others who would be traveling with them to join Lt. Col. George Washington's expedition into the Ohio Valley. An advance party of forty frontiersmen had already been sent out to begin construction of a fort at the junction of the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers, and Byron and Elliott were anxious to join them.
Hunter understood how vital a part the new fort would play in securing the Ohio Valley for the British, but while his young friends appeared eager to help build it, he did not think they appreciated how violent the French opposition would surely be. Building a fort was merely the preliminary goal, in his view, defending it would be a far greater challenge. Because he had not been hired to be an officer and plan strategy, he offered no opinions on the subject, but he was convinced his grasp of the situation was far more realistic than the Barclays'.
Their primary reason for the visit to Williamsburg complete, the Barclays began to attend to more personal business. Byron needed to stop at the boot-makers, and with Melissa's urging, Hunter accompanied them inside. The sharp smell of newly tanned leather reminded him of home, but he stayed well out of the way until Byron paid for the new pair of boots he had ordered.
"You'll not need new boots where we're going," Hunter then advised.
"I know better than to wear new boots in the wilderness," Byron assured him, "but these will be waiting for me when I get home."
Hunter was tempted, but did not tease the young man about his probability of returning home. The boot-maker had been too busy to notice him until that exchange. Clearly astonished to look up and find an Indian in his shop, his mouth fell agape, and Hunter winked at him before going out the door. He suspected the man would be talking about him all week, but he did not care.
Melissa wanted to stop at the basket shop next, and Hunter remained outside with her brothers while she went inside. She soon returned with an attractive basket she tied behind her saddle. She needed perfume, then fancy lace handkerchiefs and ribbons, and before long Hunter had lost track of how many shops she had stopped to visit.
Elliott feared Hunter was growing bored. "Do Indian women enjoy going into town as much as Melissa?" he asked.
"No, there's no need. They make the clothes and moccasins they wear and most of the implements they use themselves." He thought about the sheltered lives of Seneca maidens, and pained by how little they knew of the world outside their tribe, he rephrased his reply. "Few ever visit more than a trading post, but I think they would like coming to a place like this just to see it."
Their last stop was at a fabric shop which sold expensive imported silks and satins, but after perusing their latest shipment for half an hour, Melissa left without making a purchase. By then her brothers were ready to visit the Raleigh Tavern, where they were certain to find several of their friends. Melissa often attended elegant private parties there in the Daphne Room, but she had absolutely no desire to enter the tavern proper. Her brothers had already dismounted, but Hunter still sat astride his horse, and she quickly offered him an alternative.
"Would you rather come home with me now rather than stay here with them? I noticed you didn't touch your wine last night. If you don't drink, you might feel rather out of place in a tavern."
Hunter felt out of place whenever he left the forest, but he had learned simply to ignore that uncomfortable feeling and go wherever he chose, because it enabled him to learn far more than if he remained solely in the company of his own kind. In this case, however, Melissa was correct: he had no desire to drink or watch other men get drunk.
"If you want to go home, I will ride with you," he offered.
Byron and Elliott exchanged a worried glance in which it was obvious they doubted the wisdom of allowing Melissa to return home with such an unusual escort. They might have refused to allow it, but lured by the greetings of their friends, they were in a hurry to enter the tavern, and Byron dismissed his sister with a brief bit of advice. "Go straight home, and if anyone bothers you, tell them Hunter is a scout for the militia."
"I don't need a woman to speak for me," Hunter insisted, despite the fact that he had been very glad to have Alanna call off Jacob before he had been forced to remove the tongs from the blacksmith's hand and crush his skull with them. "I will see that she gets home safely."
"We know that you will," Elliott called back over his shoulder, then followed Byron into the popular tavern.
Hunter looked up and down Gloucester Street, and confident he had seen the most interesting part of Williamsburg, he turned his horse toward the road they had taken into town. Melissa brought her mare up beside him, and while Hunter saw more than one disapproving frown as they rode along, he was pleased to have the charming young lady all to himself.
"Is Lieutenant Scott your sweetheart?" he asked.
Melissa could not help but blush as she offered a thoughtful reply. "No, not really. I know that he likes me, but we're merely friends, not sweethearts. That word implies far more."
Intrigued by her uncharacteristically demure response, Hunter pursued the matter. "More what?"
Melissa licked her lips before attempting to explain. She had made the tantalizing gesture so often, she was unaware she had just done it again. "A romantic element," she speculated softly. "Sweethearts are in love."
"And friends are not?"
"No, if friends are in love, then they're sweethearts," Melissa broke into teasing giggles, as she glanced toward the handsome brave. "I can't imagine sweethearts not being friends first, but there are several men I consider good friends, and none is a sweetheart."
"Do you consider me a friend?"
"We've only just met, but yes, I think we're becoming friends. My brothers like and trust you, and they always choose their friends wisely."
"We're not talking about Byron and Elliott," Hunter pointed out with a sly smile. "We're talking about you and me."
When presented with the opportunity, Melissa had swiftly arranged to ride home with him, but she had not expected him to ask such embarrassing questions. She was accustomed to men like Ian Scott, who were gentlemanly in all their words and actions. But Hunter was an Indian, and she really had no idea what to expect from him. A confident young woman, she attempted to bluff her way out of her present predicament.
"I can make up my own mind," she responded flippantly. "But what about you, do you have an Indian sweetheart?"
Hunter paused as though he had to give considerable thought to her question. Finally he glanced toward her. "No."
