So, I was going through my computer and looking through old files and found this. I know it has been so long (years, actually) but I did promise that I would finish this story. I mean to keep that promise. This is for those of you who still might, maybe, care about reading this? I had no idea that so many people even followed this story. Thank you - this is for all of you. I don't know when the next update might come, but trust that I will be back. As always, the reviews are open and if any of you ever want to send a PM, so is my inbox. Love to you all.

xx lightinside

Chapter 9

The darkness was so deep beyond the fence that I stumbled on my way to the trees. I sounded like a drunk, and probably looked like one. If John had been around, he would have sent me back to the encampment. It wasn't safe to be out like this, half-blind and knocking around announcing my presence to every predator within three square miles of the place. I held my arms out as my eyes adjusted, hoping that I could at least keep myself from running headfirst into a pine. Even that would probably be a miracle.

The throbbing in my cheek turned to memory as I found new focus. Rather, it found me. Hands closed around my searching arms and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming just in time. My poor sight registered two red paws on a bare chest, and Kocoum brought a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. He pulled me further into the trees and walked with confidence into the darkness, towing me along. When he judged that we were at a safe distance, he turned back toward me and released my arm.

"What are you doing? I –" My demands were forgotten when I registered something dark dripping down his arm, shimmering in the moonlight. "Is that blood? Are you bleeding?" I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. "I shot you." The words were muffled, but I knew he heard them.

"It is nothing."

I scowled, dropping my hands. "Sit down and let me see it." I pointed to one of the trees, making it clear that he had no other option. He didn't move. His face was as unreadable and hard as stone, but after a moment, he reached out with his uninjured arm and took my chin between his forefinger and thumb. Startled by the contact, my heart leapt in my chest and I opened my mouth to protest. He gently rotated my face, his touch light and appraising, so that he could see clearly the place where Ratcliffe struck me. The words left me in an instant.

He said nothing, only stared.

"Sit down." I said again, gentler. "Please."

The moment stretched on for years, it seemed. But finally, Kocoum released my chin. He never looked away, even as he settled himself in the place I had insisted upon. I wouldn't insult him by saying that the swelling on my cheek was an accident, but there was some self-conscious part of me that wanted to saysomething. Anything to fill the silence. Instead, I kneeled and began studying the damage I had inflicted to his arm. He never flinched or pulled away, even as I pulled small pieces of buckshot from his skin. Kocoum had been very lucky to have been grazed – the bullet would have torn him to pieces. The situation itself would have been very different.

"I am very sorry." I murmured. I tore off a section of my sleeve and began wrapping his arm. "You should get someone more experienced to look it over, make sure an infection doesn't develop."

"I do not think you meant to shoot." He said and there was amusement in his voice. "Just as you do not mean to make so much noise. You are clumsy." At this, my eyes flew to his, alight with challenge. "And you have a good heart." He finished, tapping at the place his own heart rested. "Kind."

I blinked, caught off guard. "I do not think kind people shoot their friends."

He nodded. "Clumsy."

I shoved his working arm, smiling despite myself. "Hush. Now, tell me why you risked coming here. What news have you for me?"

The air of amusement that hung between us evaporated in an instant. I could see in Kocoum a hint of anger that troubled me, but the knowledge in his eyes frightened me more than his anger ever could. "A man sneaks to see the Chief's daughter." Kocoum murmured. His voice was stone. "I found him and followed."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I tried desperately to swallow my panic, but it reared its ugly head. I clutched at Kocoum's good arm. "Who have you told of this?"

At my demands, he hesitated. There was a moment of confusion, and then understanding dawned. Confusion turned to accusation. "You knew."

Chewing at my lip, I stood, running my bloodstained fingers through my hair in agitation. "Yes." I said. It was useless to lie now. I had more respect for Kocoum than to try. Though it would have been helpful for John to mention that Pocahontas was the Chief's daughter. Typical that he should leave that bit out.

Kocoum stood, the white of my makeshift bandage stark against his skin in the moonlight. "How long?"

I stilled. Would it be better that it had only been going on a short time? Or worse? That the English would arrive and upend their lives in more ways than one in the blink of an eye. "Weeks." My voice was naught but a whisper. "As long as we have known one another."

A swift but lengthy range of emotions played out behind Kocoum's eyes, mingling with the anger just enough so that I could see beyond it. Anger, yes, but fear also.

Before he could speak or find the presence of mind to leave me standing in the dark, I took his hand. Thomas would have called me indecent, but I did not have room to care. I only had to make Kocoum see.

"Do you fear me?" I asked.

He looked down at my hand, pitifully small in his. Then, he raised his gaze back to my face, to the place where Ratcliffe had struck me. He seemed to consider his bandaged arm. The walls of the fort, foreboding as they loomed even at a fair distance behind us. There was a strange sadness that lingered in each second that passed while I waited for his answer. A regret that whispered at his ear, reminding him that I was English. I was an outsider, an invader.

"They are not all like you." He said finally. "Their spirit is not the same. It is poisoned. It will be our ruin."

The words were truer than any I had ever heard out of my kinsmen's mouths. And I felt the agony of them in my body, down to the marrow of my bones. It was unavoidable. Ratcliffe and his men were ruination. What could I do but watch? I closed my eyes and let his hand fall from my own. Apologies were hollow now; they would do nothing but inflict more pain. There was no promise that I could make without transforming myself into the most hideous of liars.

"I don't want it to be this way." I said. The words choked me.

Kocoum did not speak, but I heard the words as clearly as if he'd said them aloud.But could it ever have been any other way?

Carefully, he reached up again and brushed his thumb across my injured cheek. "You stand tall before lions and escape death's arrow… and yet allow a man to do this?"

A true question. I blinked slowly, amazed at his light touch. The broken skin didn't so much as throb at the contact.

"I didn't see it coming." I said honestly. "But it won't happen again." He seemed satisfied by my answer, as if he knew that I was telling the truth. Or perhaps suspected that whatever had kept me alert and alive so far would do so again in the near future.

I hesitated and he dropped his hand, suddenly aware that he had lingered too long. I wanted to reassure him, but there was another truth that needed to be told. "The man… the one you followed here… I knew about him, what he was doing, because he is my brother." I said.

"Family." Kocoum repeated the word slowly, trying it out to see if he found it offensive. It seemed to settle over him without much fuss.

"John." I whispered his name, suddenly aware of how exposed we were even out of sight in the trees. "He means Pocahontas no harm. In fact, I think –" I bit my tongue. Not far from where Kocoum and I stood, shrouded in darkness, there was a noise. It was faint and it was brief, but it caused the hair on my arms to stand at attention. I feared the worst instantly.

A strong hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me aside. I didn't realize for a moment that Kocoum had placed himself in front of me. Whether he meant to hide or protect me, the act itself stunned me into absolute held still, every muscle in his back taut as a drawn bowstring. His stance had changed—loose and easy was gone, replaced by the silent readiness of a predator who knew too well what danger felt like in the air.

The noise came again. This time, it was the snap of a branch, heavier than before. Not some passing animal. Human.

I stepped closer to him, unable to stop myself. "What do we do?" I whispered.

He didn't answer. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the blade strapped at his hip. The moonlight shimmered along its edge as he slid it free. When he finally looked back at me, his expression had shifted. Not fear. Determination.

"We see who dares come."

I swallowed hard and nodded, though my knees trembled. It was an odd feeling – crushing, though my skin felt as though it might catch fire. So close to the fort, there was no telling who might find Kocoum here.

The closer the sound came, it was unmistakable — boots. And whoever it was, they weren't trying to be quiet. Familiar – young. A figure stepped out from the darkness, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Thomas," I exhaled, nearly sinking with relief. "It's Thomas."

The relief was short-lived. He was alone, yes, but frantic – sweating despite the cold, eyes wide and wild in the moonlight. His gaze flicked from me to Kocoum, and it was only a second before it registered—Kocoum's drawn blade, the closeness of our bodies, the blood on his bandaged arm.

And then I saw it—the way Thomas's whole frame shifted as he dropped his hand toward his musket, half-drawn and trembling.

"No!" I said, the word a sharp exhale of stunned breath, just as he leveled the weapon.

I threw myself in front of Kocoum.

"Joanna—move!" Thomas barked. "Get out of the way!"

"No!" I snapped again, spreading my arms as though that could somehow shield the man behind me from the shot that I knew Thomas wasn't quite brave—or stupid—enough to take. I felt Kocoum tense behind me, heard the soft exhale of surprise, but he didn't move.

"Put it down," I said, voice hardening. "Right now, Thomas. He is not the enemy."

"He's got a blade drawn on you!" Thomas hissed, frantic now. "You're covered in blood, Joanna — what the hell am I supposed to think?"

I didn't lower my arms. "You do not know what you are doing."

Thomas's hands were shaking. He wasn't a soldier. Not really. He'd never fired a musket at a living man. His panic was a thin veneer over his fear, cracking at the edges. And yet he still hadn't lowered the weapon.

"Drop it," I said again, quieter now. "He saved me."

That got through. Something shifted behind his eyes, a crack in the wall.

"He what?"

I nodded, not daring to turn my back on him, not yet. I did not elaborate on my claim, only said, "I would be dead twice over if not for him."

Thomas's aim faltered.

Kocoum still hadn't spoken. I felt him behind me, solid and still. A part of me knew that if the musket fired, he would move first—push me out of the way, maybe take the shot himself. The thought turned my stomach.

Thomas looked at my face then, really looked. His eyes dropped to the swelling along my cheekbone, the raw imprint of violence still fresh and tender beneath the moonlight. He paled.

"Who did that?" he whispered.

"Ratcliffe." I said, watching him carefully.

Thomas's jaw clenched. Slowly—blessedly—he lowered the musket, though he didn't sling it across his back.

Kocoum stepped forward then, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "Let him speak," he said quietly.

I let my arms fall to my sides, exhaling shakily. I'd been holding my breath without realizing it.

Thomas licked his lips, his voice suddenly hoarse. "They're planning something," he said. "A raid. Ratcliffe says the tribe is hiding gold, mocking us. He's got the men worked into a fury. It's happening. At dawn."

The woods around us fell into silence so deep that I thought for a moment I might be dreaming. Or drowning.

"No," I breathed. "It's too soon."

"He wants blood," Thomas said. "And he knows he can't control you or John. Or me, for that matter. If we don't act now—"

"Then I must return," Kocoum cut in, his voice low, cold with urgency. "I will warn them."

"I'll go with you," I offered instinctively, but he shook his head.

"No. If you are with me, they will not listen in time. They will see your presence as proof of betrayal."

"He's right," Thomas said. "You can't go back to the fort either. Ratcliffe's already suspicious. Stay hidden. I'll cover for you."

I nodded reluctantly and looked to Kocoum. "Where we first met, by the river. I'll wait there."

Kocoum stepped close, and this time, he didn't hesitate. He touched my cheek again, softer than before. I tilted my face toward his hand without thinking, not bothering to think of what Thomas might interpret this moment as. This understanding belonged to no one but us.

"Be safe," I whispered.

"And you."

He was gone the next instant, melting into the trees like shadow. I turned to Thomas. His hands still trembled.

"I thought I was going to have to shoot him," he said quietly.

"If you had, you would have shot me, too."

He grimaced. "Maybe. I'm glad I didn't."

"So am I." I breathed. "Now put that damn thing away."

We walked in silence, the woods swallowing our footsteps, and behind us, the forest held its breath. "I have to find John." I murmured finally, breaking the stillness. "Or you do. Before he does something stupid."