Star Blanket's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You tell me is not right to ask personal questions. Always you English say one thing and do another! I think you make up customs as it please you."

  She reined in her mount and allowed the animal to drop into line behind the packhorse, feeling even more perplexed than before. She must return to the Shawnee. She could never, never understand the English, not if she lived to be as old as a grandfather cedar tree. They were a people without logic, and more important, a people without heart.

  They heard the river long before they saw it, a grinding, rushing sound that seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. They dismounted and led the animals up a final steep grade, then paused to stare in wonder at the splendor of the Susquehanna on a rampage.

  A wide expanse of chocolate brown water tumbled southward between the low hills that formed the riverbanks. The churning surface of the water was broken here and there by massive boulders jutting into the torrent and forming barriers for the floating logs and debris swept along by the flood.

  Star Blanket saw the carcass of a great stag, a deer that two men might struggle to lift, tossed and swirled by the current as easily as though it were made of birchbark.

  "We cannot cross this," she murmured, her words nearly drowned in the rush of water.

  Her horse nickered and shifted nervously. Automatically, her hand ran down the arched neck, and she whispered to him in Shawnee, soothing words of comfort.

  Adam sighed and shook his head. "Damn it!" He pointed upriver to a rocky outcrop on the far side. "I crossed there on the way out. Except for a deep spot in the middle, the horses waded across. We'll just have to camp here until the river goes down. Another day, maybe two, might make the difference."

  Star Blanket smiled with her eyes. If Adam believed he could cross this river in two days, he was crazier than she thought.

  They set up camp beside a spring and waited. The two days stretched into three and then four. Despite her vigilance, there seemed no opportunity to escape during the wait.

  At noon on the fourth day, Adam gave the order to saddle up. "We can still make ten miles before dark if we go now," he said. "Stay close to me and do exactly as I tell you."

  Much of the flooding had subsided, but the muddy current still raced along much faster than normal for that time of year. The banks were littered with piles of branches and matted foliage, and a great many more rocks showed above the surface of the river.

  "The bottom's uneven," Adam warned. "Let your horse have his head. He can swim when he must. I don't want any broken legs."

  "I cross rivers before," she answered sharply. She'd had quite enough of Adam's bad temper. He'd done nothing but snap at her since they'd left the Delaware camp.

  Adam had given her the chestnut gelding, the quietest of the horses. She led the bay mare with the white star by a lead line. He rode astride the black, leading the bay gelding.

  Cautiously, Adam led the way down the muddy bank and urged the black horse into the murky water. The animal tossed his head but went gallantly forward, the bay gelding following on a lead line. "The bottom feels firm enough," Adam called back. "I think it's gravel here. Watch for deep holes."

  Star Blanket dug her heels into the side of the chestnut gelding and entered the water. Her hands were firm and steady on the reins as the water covered her feet and rose to midthigh. Her eyes were firmly fixed on Adam's back.

  Halfway across the river, her prayers were answered. The black horse slipped and fell sideways, scrambling with his hind legs for solid footing.

  The bay gelding pulled loose from Adam's grasp and began swimming with the current. Adam shouted a warning and fought to keep control of the struggling black.

  Star Blanket didn't hesitate. With a cry, she pulled hard on the left rein and drove the chestnut into deeper water. The bay mare followed, and the two animals began swimming. Muddy water swirled around her as she lay low over the horse's neck and fixed her eyes on the shoreline she had just left. Swimming with the flow instead of against it, the horses were swept along faster than she would have believed possible.

  The chestnut passed dangerously close to a half-submerged boulder. Helplessly, Star Blanket watched as they were flung toward the unyielding stone, then whirled past in a tumble of white water. Somewhere, she had lost the line to the mare. She could not think about that, or about the shouts coming from behind her. Desperately, she clung to the chestnut's mane and willed him to struggle a little longer.

  A floating branch gouged her knee, and she winced with pain. She caught sight of the bay mare as the horse's head went under. Then the chestnut's hooves found solid footing, and he heaved himself into the shallows. Star Blanket slid from his back and pulled him up onto the bank. He stood there, head down, sides quivering, in total exhaustion. She paused only long enough to loop the reins over a branch, then scrambled along the bank arid waded out to catch the bay mare. To her dismay, the animal was limping.

  As she reached safety with the mare, she turned to scan the far shoreline for Adam and the other two horses. After careful searching, she caught sight of the bay gelding standing in an eddy downriver on the far side. There was no sign of the black horse or of Adam.

  A chill ran through her body. He couldn't have drowned! Not a man his size. Surely he could swim like a fish. Even if the horse had broken a leg on the rocks, Adam should have been able to swim free. Anxiously, she climbed up on a rock and stared at the rushing water. She concentrated on the area downriver; if they hadn't made the crossing here, the current would have swept them in that direction.

  She glanced back at the horses and decided they would stay where they were, at least for a few moments. She ran down the riverbank, wading around piles of waterlogged branches and scrambling over rocks. "Stupid Englishman," she muttered under her breath. "Wooden head. Even a child could cross a river without—"

  The black horse! Star Blanket's breath caught in her throat. Adam's black horse was standing in the shallows just ahead. The saddle hung crazily to one side, and there was no sign of Adam.

  Star Blanket splashed through the water and grabbed the horse's bridle. "Where is Adam?" she demanded. "A-dam! A-dam Rourke!" Her only answer was the sound of the swiftly flowing Susquehanna and the heavy breathing of the black gelding.

  Cold terror seized her body, and she shivered violently. They had been more than halfway across. Why had the black horse come ashore here? Quickly, she tightened the cinch and vaulted onto the animal's back, straining to see some trace of Adam on the river of brown mud. The reflection of the sun off the water hurt her eyes; she blinked, then stiffened as she caught sight of something white in the middle of the river.

  A logjam had formed in the depression between two boulders. There, in the tangle of twisted branches and debris, was something that just might be a man in a white shirt.

  Stripping off her riding dress, Star Blanket flung it across the saddle. If she was to swim the river, she needed no heavy skirts to pull her down. She ran back a hundred feet and waded out, gauging the force of the current and the distance to the logjam downriver. When the water was waist deep, she pushed off with her bare feet and began to swim.

  The sheer power of the current shocked her. She had known it was possessed by a mighty spirit, but one could not realize the strength of that spirit until one was caught in her arms. Objects bumped into Star Blanket, and once she struck her injured knee against something rock solid.

  Ahead and to her right she caught sight of the boulders. She would have to swim harder if she didn't want the current to carry her past the logjam.

  Taking a deep breath, she put all her heart and mind into an effort to reach that spot. The water was cold; her muscles ached, and her eyes smarted. Then, suddenly, she was within reach of a jutting branch She grabbed it and held on, working her way up the branch to the trunk and back toward the center of the pile of debris.

  Adam lay half out of the water, his face against the trunk of a splintered pine. His face was as pale as his linen shirt, and Star Blanket could detect no sign of life.

  "A-dam!" By swimming and pulling she finally reached his side. Her fingers found his throat; not as cold as the merciless river, it was still warm and alive. "A-dam," she repeated. His eyes were shut, his arms clamped around the log in a death grip.

  "A-dam!" She beat on his shoulder with her fist. They must not remain here. At any second, the logjam might shift, crushing them in a tangle of powerful logs or trapping them beneath the surface of the river.

  "A-dam!"

  He groaned, and an eyelid flickered. The leather tie binding his hair had come loose, and his brown locks floated on the water. Star Blanket pushed aside a foolish urge to press them against her cheek. His helplessness tugged at her heart.

  Her own weariness swept over her. Why not leave him here and let the spirit of the river decide his fate? Was he not her enemy? Even a Shawnee could not be expected to throw away her life uselessly for the life of an Englishman... for an enemy.

  But Adam was not an enemy. She could lie with her lips but not with her heart. They had fought side by side; they had broken bread and shared fresh water. He had protected her and treated her with honor. She could do no less for him now... if it cost her life, she must try to save him.

  As fierce as the current was, she doubted she could hold his head above water for long, and the sides of the boulders were too steep for her to pull him up. She must get him back to shore and a fire. But how?

  The log that he clung to was too big. The roots were hopelessly entangled in the piles of refuse, and another log lay across the branches. Still, it gave her hope. If she could find a smaller log, anything floating that would hold up his weight, she might be able to get him to shore.

  At that moment, another log slammed into the pile. Wood creaked and moaned, and a large section of the logjam broke free and was swept away by the current.

  "Adam!" Rebecca screamed. She smacked his face hard and was rewarded by another groan and a half-uttered curse. "Adam! Listen to me! You must wake up. You must help me get you to the shore."

  "Rebecca," he said raggedly. He opened bloodshot eyes and tried to focus on her face. "Where are we?"

  "We in the middle of your damned Susquehanna!" She pulled at his arm. "It is not safe here. You must let go of that log. We must—"

  The sound of snapping timber turned her blood to ice. There was an awful sucking noise and the pine log quivered, then slowly began to wrench loose from the pile and swing into the river. As it moved, it rolled, throwing Adam backward into the river. She grabbed for him, but to her horror, he slid away, down into the muddy depths of the Susquehanna. Without thinking, she followed, only half aware of the logs that closed over her head as she dove into the Stygian blackness.

  Chapter 7

  The water was a nightmare, a terrifying, clutching entity that would return to haunt Star Blanket's dreams in the dark hours of the night. Mud and branches swirled around her; when she opened her eyes, it was as though she was blind. Desperately, her hands reached and scrabbled, feeling for the yielding solidity of human flesh.

  Her head began to pound, and her chest ached for air. Something struck the back of her head and scraped along her shoulder. Her foot touched bottom, sand and gravel, and then something soft and repugnant. A silent scream rose in her throat, and she fought the panic that she knew would bring her death.

  Adam. She must find Adam. She let herself go with the current, let herself be tumbled across the rock-strewn riverbed. Then, just before the final blackness enveloped her, Rebecca's fingers closed around a man's hand. Joy shot through her as she pulled herself against him and felt her way up his arm to the contours of his face. He struggled weakly against her, but even that feeble battle was proof that he lived. Triumphantly, she seized a handful of hair and pushed upward toward the surface.

  After what seemed an eternity, her face broke the surface and she gulped in lungfuls of life-giving air. That she couldn't see didn't register on her oxygen-starved brain until she had pulled the man up to choke and gasp beside her. Then it hit. Why was it so dark? It had been midafternoon when they entered the river. Where was the light?

  Fear turned her bones to water, and Star Blanket began to shake. Magic! The River Spirit had held her trapped for hours in her grasp. Or... her mouth tasted of copper... or... had she been made blind for daring to take back a man the spirit had claimed for her own?

  Star Blanket took another deep breath and reason trickled back. Her free hand reached and closed on the rough surface of a log. She would have laughed at her own foolishness if she hadn't been so frightened. Of course—they were in an air space under the logjam.

  Adam moaned and choked again. She could barely make out his face in the dim light. Water ran from the corner of his mouth.

  "Listen," she commanded hoarsely. "We are under the logs. We must swim down and out from under. Do you understand?"

  He didn't answer, and she tugged sharply on his hair.

  "Ouggh."

  "Listen to me," she repeated firmly. "Take a breath and hold it. Now!"

  Filling her own lungs with air, she dove, pulling Adam after her; down, down, under the tangled branches, down where the current ran free. The fingers of her left hand were wrapped tightly in his long hair. She used her right hand to push away objects and guide herself and Adam through the murky water. Silently she counted, trying to decide when it would be safe to swim to the surface. They would have only one chance. Her strength was fast dissolving; blackness nibbled at the corners of her mind.

  Then they were up, and the sparkling surface of the river surrounded them. Rebecca's heartbeat quickened. Never had the sun looked more beautiful or the breeze caressed her more lovingly.

  Holding Adam's head above water seemed almost easy as she let the Susquehanna carry them on its breast. The muscles in her arms and legs ached, and her head was light. Time seemed to stand still.

  Rebecca's knees struck something solid, and she realized with a shock that it was hard ground. Staggering to her feet, she dragged Adam into a quiet pool of water and then, inch by inch, up onto the grassy bank.

  She rolled him onto his stomach and threw her weight against his back. "Adam!" she cried. "Wake up! Adam!" When he didn't answer, she pushed his head to one side, smoothing back the thick mane of brown hair and running her hand down the rugged jawline.

  "Adam?" She began to tremble, not from the chill of the river but from the fear that he was beyond the call of her voice. "Adam?" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she beat against his shoulders with her fists. "Stupid Englishman!" she wailed. "You cannot die so easily." In her desperation she lapsed into Shawnee, sobbing as she pounded at his muscular arms and shoulders. "Atchmoloh! H'tow-wa-cai, Adam!"

  She leaned over him and took his ashen face in her hands. "Adam," she pleaded hoarsely. She pressed her warm lips against his cold ones, willing life into his body... willing his soul to return.

  A spasm of choking wracked his body. With a cry of triumph, Star Blanket held his head as water spewed from his mouth. "Lenawawe," she whispered. "Live." She slapped his back again, hard, and watched with satisfaction as he choked and coughed and a healthy tint replaced the ivory cast of his skin.

  Adam raised himself to his knees and vomited great volumes of muddy river water. Then he fell forward into a half faint and lay without moving for nearly an hour.

  Exhausted, Star Blanket lay in the hot sun beside him, letting the soothing rays ease the pain in her muscles. Night would be soon enough for a fire, she decided. It was warm here and sheltered from the breeze. Later, she would worry about the horses and their gear. For now, it was enough to feel the earth beneath her back and listen to the bittersweet song of a mockingbird.

  Gradually, Adam's breathing became more regular. Star Blanket watched over him, pleased when he slept and alert to his first movements when he woke.

  She moistened her lips with a hesitant tongue, remembering the touch of her mouth to his, savoring the strange sensations that had coursed through her body. Would he remember? Would he understand? She brushed her bottom lip lightly with her finger. How could he understand when she didn't understand herself why she had kissed him?

  He groaned loudly and pushed himself up on his forearms. "Rebecca?" He blinked stupidly. "Rebecca?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I feel as if I've been kicked to death by a horse. Are you all—My God, girl! Where are your clothes?"

  Star Blanket laughed, clapping her hands together in glee like a mischievous child. "Crazy Englishman!" She covered her mouth with her hands and giggled. "You almost drown in river. We both almost drown in river, and all you can say is, 'Where are your clothes!'"

  Adam frowned and rose unsteadily to his feet, almost driven back to his knees by the blinding pain in his head. "My horse slipped into a hole and then—Where are the horses? Did we lose the horses?" Without the horses, without his gun, how would he ever get them safely home to Sheffield? He blinked to try and clear the dizziness. "I remember..." His voice cracked, then he continued huskily: "We were caught in some kind of pileup in the river." His voice dropped to a bare whisper. "You saved my life, didn't you?"

  Star Blanket's eyes glowed. She smiled and nodded. "I did, Englishman. You would be food for the turtles if it not for me."

  Adam tore his eyes away and stared at the ground. Damn it! Why was she standing there as bold as brass without a stitch on? She was an Aphrodite hewn of living marble. His pulse quickened as he imagined what that satin skin would feel like pressed against his. Angrily he ripped at his shirt and, tearing the ties, yanked it over his head and threw it at her. "Here, put this on!" he ordered.

  She fingered the damp linen, her eyes clouded with puzzlement. "I have done something wrong, Adam?" she ventured.

  "Put the shirt on!" His voice was as cold as December frost.