The King`s Commission

slaughtered with the best of them and taken her from a traveling party of Cherokee hunting too far south of their mountain fastness, even if he was a little too far north of his usual haunts, poaching on Upper Creek lands.

Alan's bride cost him a dragoon pistol and saddle holster, with forty pre-made cartouches of round-shot and buck-shot, two of his deer hides Rabbit had already dressed, one of his shirts, and a leather cartouche pouch with George III's ornate brass seal on the flap. Alan suspected that buying the mort wasn't strictly necessary, since Man-Killer and McGilliveray/White Turtle both seemed to be enjoying it so much, but there wasn't much he could do about it, so he went along sullenly.

Once the purchase was done, Man-Killer got to his feet and went on another high-pitched, formal rant, which McGilliveray translated into short, pithy phrases now and again, the upshot being that he didn't know much about this young white man, but he would be considered 'of Man-Killer's fire,' which seemed a grudging sort of honor short of actually becoming Indian, more specifically of the Muskogee Wind Clan, since everyone Creek knew that they were the best people on the face of the earth, and they wouldn't adopt just any upstart as a Real Person until he had proved himself a superior sort of being, perhaps on par with a Seminolee or Apalachee, who at least could speak something like Muskogean. Man-Killer also grudgingly allowed that since this strange white man had bought the girl Rabbit from him at such a damned good knockdown price, he would allow her to remain in the Wind Clan and in his lodge as 'daughter' instead of slave after the white man went back where he came from, so the offspring would be raised Muskogee, which Man-Killer thought would be the best for all concerned. He didn't like the way white men raised their children, anyway, with all that spanking and beating, which broke the spirit.

'At least the little bastard's going to be spared tutors and algebra,' Alan sighed.

All through these preliminaries, the Indian women of the clan and the huti had gathered their sisters from the other hutis to witness the ceremony. Through it all they had yipped and whooped with delight, eager as harpies discovering a newly slain corpse to feed upon.

Finally, they brought Rabbit out. She had bathed and drawn her raven hair back into a single long braid, adorned with beads and a few feathers other than eagle. She wore a new, richly embroidered and beaded deerskin skirt, a little longer than her usual style, with a new upper garment much like a match-coat or bed-sitting coat, tied under the arms, which still left her right breast free.

'How much ritual does it take for her to get ready?' Alan asked as she was paraded before her new 'sisters' of the Wind Clan. 'I'd say this was arranged a long time before I heard about it. Well, damn their pleasures, I say!'

'More to the point, blessin's on yours, Alan,' Cashman replied, sobered by how lovely the girl was, and by the solemnity of the moment, no matter how absurd it was. 'If they were forcin' me to wed her, I'd think myself lucky. Damn shame you can't take her with you when you leave tomorrow.'

'Oh, for God's sake,' Alan groaned. Still, she was tricked out right handsome, even he had to admit that, and had been fawn-pretty before.

A way was cleared, and she knelt down before him on her knees, her eyes swimming with tears even as she beamed at him with happiness so open and adoring it silenced even the most cynical of his crew.

Man-Killer read the rites, which were simple to the extreme. He offered her the platter of venison, and she took a bite to accept him. She offered him a bowl of sojkee and an ear of corn still in the shuck, which he tasted. Then she was allowed to come sit beside him and link arms with him, pressing her young body to his side and gazing up at him in shuddering reverence.

'Now what?' Alan asked, putting an arm around her shoulders in spite of himself.

'That's it, you're married,' McGilliveray said, and Man-Killer and the women said pretty much 'amen' or 'here, here,' which raised whoops and shouts from all present. 'Give you joy of this day, Lieutenant Lewrie. Go, take your bride to your new home yonder. It's only a summer chickee, but private enough. I helped built it yesterday.'

'Damn your eyes, McGilliveray!' Alan said, unable to do anything other than smile as people crowded around to congratulate the 'happy couple.'

'Go forth, be fruitful, and multiply,' Cashman called with an exaggerated bow. 'Though you've a fair start on that, hey?'

It was expected that the newly-weds would retire immediately, and Rabbit was almost dragging him, so he finally allowed himself to be led off to a new and fresh-smelling chickee back towards those fatal corn-cribs, near the rear of the family huti. They climbed up onto the mat- covered floor and pulled the split-cane wall mats down for privacy. Almost before the last mat had fallen in place, Rabbit was on him like a ferret, dragging him to the floor. Taking heed of her lessons in passionate deportment from Alan's earlier teachings, she flung her arms about his neck and showered him with kisses, babbling away softly and rapidly in Cherokee/Creek/English, all the while tearing at his clothes.

'Ah-lan,' she crooned, besotted with love and trembling with happiness at her freedom from slavery, and at her marriage. 'You me!'

'You are mine,' he corrected between kisses. She practically ripped his breeches open and rolled to sit astride of him. She took his left hand and rubbed it over her firm belly and purred like a very contented kitten, stirring her loins against him. 'Baby,' he said.

'Bebby, you me,' she parroted. 'You… ahr… mine.'

'Ours,' he said, tapping her stomach. 'God help me.'

'Ahrs, go'hemmy,' she said, beaming, with tears of joy cascading down her smooth young cheeks and splashing on her upper garment and breast. Alan reached up and undid the knot that held the little match-coat together, and it fell away, revealing both of those delightfully springy young orbs. She slid further down his belly as his hands caressed her breasts and nipples, and in moments her vagina was slick and moist on his skin. She slid further down, reached and found his throbbing member. Press-ganged into marriage or not, she was still a damned attractive and nubile young piece, he decided. She steered him into her and rocked back to drive him deep inside, making them both gasp at the velvety pleasure of the first stroke of insertion, and it was as good as the first time they had coupled in the com-crib, just as full of wonder and discovery. For her perhaps it was even better, for she was fulfilling her life's role as wife and mother-to-be, and her inspired exertions communicated inspiration to him.

There was no fire for her to tend that night, no more errands to run for others now she was a freedwoman, so they could exhaust themselves totally and fall asleep together. She cuddled to him in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder and one downy thigh flung across his belly, her breath stirring soft against his cheek and neck. Every movement he made was responded to with an unconscious hug, some little whimper of joy. She woke once briefly, sated beyond measure, and only kissed him, repeated his name and her few words of endearment in English, and sank back into sleep in his arms.

Alan woke just before dawn as it got a little chilly, and drew a red trade blanket over them. He looked down at her and snuggled to her cozy warmth, worn down to a nubbin and barely awake, savoring the last few minutes of closeness.

'Damme for a fool, but this marriage nonsense don't feel half-bad right now,' he muttered. Long as it's over today, he thought. Being a daddy, though. That cuts a bit rough. Not that I'll be around to listen to the little bastard bawl, so that's not so bad. Feels good, this.

In his entire experience with women, he had rogered mop-squeezers and country girls, tumbling with them in the dark at the top of the stairs, across un-made beds, or rolling behind a hedge in the summers at the edge of a field, all quick and furious. He had lain at ease with whores between bouts of 'the blanket horn-pipe,' but for the life of him, as he lay there gradually coming awake, he could not actually remember sleeping with a girl. Usually his time was governed by being furtive, or the commercial nature of the transaction; on, off, and just where the hell's my hat?

This, though, this closeness and peacefulness of being in bed with a woman who wanted you as much as you wanted her, who smelled so good and intimate under the blanket, who snoozed away so trusting in his arms, and who would respond with affection to any sign of affection on his part-well, this was something else again.

Pity I can't take her with me, he decided silently, though it was a forlorn wish. She would not fit in anywhere he went, most especially aboard Shrike. It isn't that I really love her that much, he thought, but for now, she's a sweet thing, a girl with a good little heart.