Strike of the Water Moccasin: Drawn by the Frost Moon, #4

By April W Gardner

All he wants is to save the woman he loves. The enemy has other plans.

 

Water Moccasin, pained with battle wounds, limps toward home only to discover the Bluecoats have gotten there first. He's the sole warrior to have escaped their net, but one other has eluded the enemy—Birdie, a former slave, his only love, and the woman who has repeatedly rejected his advances. When the worst comes to pass and they are caught, he is given an ultimatum—labor at the Bluecoats' behest or see Birdie returned to slavery.

 

The strikes land hard, but for Birdie, Water Moccasin would dance at the end of the Bluecoats' strings until his feet are bloody and torn. When he learns her reason for spurning him, he realizes working for the enemy is by far the least devastating circumstance. No matter the obstacle, he will fight to his death for her, even as she places herself wholly outside his reach.

 

Will Water Moccasin and Birdie ever find freedom? Will the unwelcome assignment ruin his chance to prove that his love is unconditional?

 

Strike of the Water Moccasin is a historical romance set in the Drawn by the Frost Moon world. If you like Native American themes, characters awakening to the Christian faith, and tales of impossible love, then you'll delight in Water Moccasin's quest for happily ever after.

 

Buy Strike of the Water Moccasin to witness unshakeable love today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big Spring Press
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781945831225

Book preview

Chapter 1

March 1816, Black Fort , Spanish Florida

From across the fort, a cannon boom concussed the air, quaking the ground. Accustomed to the practice shots, Great Warrior Water Moccasin did not flinch or alter his route across the expansive dirt plateau. He was a Red Stick of the Defiance, after all. Having faced every manner of battle, he did not easily startle. Then too, it fit his mood, absorbed as he was in calculating their odds of victory against the trials of leaving before the battle reached them.

A second blast rattled Water Moccasin’s eardrums, punctuated by a chorus of boos. Another poorly aimed shot, it would seem. Shaking his head, he cut through the center of Black Fort, his current residence. The fort’s fighters hardly knew their way around a cannon, but without their welcome, the Defiance would be sleeping in the swamps.

Water Moccasin made a straight line to the center where he should find Tall Bull, the chief’s Second and his own closest friend. People scattered from his path, their skin every shade of dark. The largest congregation of free blacks on this side of the Great Waters, the fort kept in high spirits no matter the mosquitoes and sweltering Florida heat. This day, its courtyard was abuzz with daily activity, its inhabitants oblivious to the monster blinking awake again on their border.

The clam-shell pendant about Water Moccasin’s neck knocked against his bare breast as he hastened his pace. His nostrils widened to feed his lungs, gunpowder a sting to his sinuses. Small inconvenience alongside the blue stench blowing in from the northeast. That of the palefaces and their army of blue-coated soldiers, as well as their assemblage of big guns and fleet of warships. They formed a reckoning force, but the Red Sticks were not defenseless.

They had their own resources, more than ever before, in fact. Cannon, ammunition, barrels of black powder. Even now, Water Moccasin’s strides carried him swiftly toward the circular armory planted center-fort. Stocked to the teeth with every conceivable explosive, the depot would keep them in the battle for as long as the fort’s impossibly thick earthen walls held out.

The question was whether the Defiance would partake in the fight—this time, they had a choice.

Black-powder smoke from the firing practice coiled lazily up from behind the octagonal depot. Five paces from its door, an oiled-tarp awning covered a cockeyed frame and provided shade for a small gathering of warriors.

Screaming Buttons, a fellow decked in more rattler tails than could be counted, had his head thrown back and his mouth wide in laughter. Talon stood off to the side, his handsome face made no less so by the sneer contorting his lips at whatever Buttons found humorous. Water Moccasin’s gaze glanced off Talon. He didn’t have time for the rancor stirred up by the warrior’s perpetual mockery.

He homed in on the other two-thirds of his soul: Tall Bull and Fierce Mink, a war woman who, by a stroke of fate rather than birth, was Water Moccasin’s beloved adopted sibling. Arms crossed, Tall Bull leaned against the pole-frame, and leaned against Tall Bull was Mink, wearing an expression of mild amusement. The sight of them was an instant tonic. The knot in Water Moccasin’s chest loosened, and his breath came easier. Whatever lay ahead, they would weather this development together, the three of them. As they always had.

Oy! Water Moccasin hailed.

As one, their heads swiveled in his direction, their spines snapping straight. Alert to Water Moccasin’s tension, Mink’s smile fell away. Tall Bull raised a strict hand, and the group’s chatter snuffed out. By the time Water Moccasin finished the distance, the atmosphere among them had appropriately thickened into a soup of tension.

Tall Bull gave him a perfunctory nod. Speak, brother.

I told you of the water snake I encountered two sleeps past? He’d been bathing at the river’s edge and inadvertently brushed against the sleek body of his spirit animal as it swam by. The creature had not retaliated, merely paused and tipped its head to regard Water Moccasin, its beady black eyes brimming with warning. To take more care. To stay alert. To watch for imminent danger.

These few days since, he’d heeded, eyes sharp, ears wide, ready for anything. What he hadn’t expected was for the trouble to be so immense.

Signs, visions. They must never be taken lightly or disregarded.

You did, Tall Bull said. Have the spirits revealed why?

They have. On my return from the hunt, my path crossed that of our northeast scout, the black man Tupelo. Water Moccasin hauled in a breath, his tongue leathery and dry. "He reports the Bluecoats to our north are a stirred hornet’s nest. They have rallied and put this place in their sights. They are many days into their march."

Where one might expect gasps and exclamations, the news was met with a silence that sagged with weariness. Shoulders sloped. Mouths drooped, and eyes shifted focus—perhaps to a fantasy land where their war-tattered Red Stick Defiance was no longer chased and hunted and bled dry of all but their tenacity to survive.

Tall Bull alone retained his proud shoulders and his level chin. The warm breeze played through his chopped widower’s hair, causing its uneven ends to stroke the muscle that spasmed in his jaw. Do we have time? To flee—the unspoken end to the question. Too shameful to voice.

Yet voice it they had in their war council, not one moon past. They simply did not have the stomach for another conflict. Their staggering losses at Horse’s Flat Foot were still so fresh that the stench of blood had yet to clear from their nostrils.

Boom. The chest-rattling sound lifted crows off the trees. Hopefully, the gunners’ aim was improving.

We have time, Water Moccasin said. "By my estimation, fourteen sleeps until the foot soldiers arrive at our walls, perhaps more if the rains are good to us. Boggy ground was a cannon’s worst enemy. Where is Micco Crazy Medicine?" Water Moccasin cast his sight about the vicinity, looking for their micco, meaning chief.

Communing at the river with Pretty Wolf. Mink hooked a finger under the cord digging into the meat of his shoulder and relieved him of the brace of ducks he’d forgotten hung at his fore and aft.

Shall I inform him? Water Moccasin hedged, reluctant to interrupt the micco’s dialogue with Water Spirit.

Screaming Buttons stepped forward, mouth a grim line. I’ll go. All respect to Pretty Wolf, but she will not take this news well. I wish to be present.

Several hums of consent followed his remark. Pretty Wolf, the micco’s daughter, and Screaming Buttons had recently found the tribe after a long, forced separation and an arduous journey. They’d barely recuperated.

"Ehi, she’ll be glad of your company. Tall Bull jerked his head to excuse him. Tell our micco I’ll convene the war house."

Screaming Buttons collected his turban from a bench and trotted off, his myriad rattler buttons filling the air with their song.

Talon withdrew a clay pipe from an accessories pouch dangling from his belt. Curse the day I’m caught serving as kerchief for a sniffling woman.

Insult their micco’s daughter now, would he?

Tall Bull and Water Moccasin’s gazes met in the middle for a silent message. No one insulted their beloved Pretty Wolf, and it went unspoken Mink handled all disrespect toward women. They looked to her now, brows arched.

Mink levied the man a glare, lips compressed in a white line, saying nothing. Just when Water Moccasin thought she would let it go, she smirked. From how I hear tell it, you find refuge among sniffling women.

Rage flared in Talon’s eyes. He drew himself up, shoulders pulled back.

In the next breath, Water Moccasin was there, a barrier between Talon and his too-bold sister. Think it through, Talon. She meant nothing by it.

Behind him, Mink laughed lightly. Nothing at all. I only wonder, same as many others. Perhaps, you can put the rumors to rest.

Those rumors being that Talon had evaded the bloody battle of Horse’s Flat Foot by hiding with the women and children in Tohopeka, the village that supported the Red Stick army.

Talon chuffed. "I was violently ill that day as you well know. Try loading a musket while spewing your insides and see how you fair. It was not my choice to lie near death with the heaves. Tell that to the rumormongers, Mink of Ockchoy, and let me not hear so much as another whisper on the matter."

Mink shrugged. As you wish.

As Talon’s stance relaxed, Water Moccasin released a breath and eased back. The fight was still strong in his blood, but Mink casually collected her water gourd off the ground. She turned to Water Moccasin, her expression placid, as though they’d not been moments from a scuffle. She tapped his chest with the vessel. Drink, Brother. The Blue Dogs can hear your dry tongue smacking the roof of your...

Water Moccasin heard no more.

His senses had been wrenched clean away by the yellow-clad figure walking toward their party. Water Moccasin was dead certain the woman, midnight skin gleaming handsomely in the afternoon sun, didn’t aim to seduce with that rhythmic sway of her hips. Or wick his brain of any semblance of order with that perpetual pout curving her lush lips. Or convert his tongue to a slab of dead meat.

Heat suffused his face, and for all he told his mouth not to speak, it did anyway, intent on his humiliation. She, there is, behind you, Mink, he stuttered. That woman. Water Moccasin bit his tongue to shut it up. It slipped its tether for one last strike against him. The lovely one you hate. The lovely one he’d resolved to woo at next encounter. Which was...now. His throat convulsed with a hard swallow.

Mink looked behind her. The tattoos dotting her forehead crimped together. Birdie? I don’t hate her. Why would you say I hate her?

You hate her friend. In the female world, wasn’t that the same?

She swung back around and punched his shoulder. "I don’t hate Sun Corn either, you dolt. What’s crawled under your breechcloth? You make me out to be a jug of vinegar."

Shoulder stinging, he adjusted the article in question, making certain its broad front flap hadn’t bunched. "Fine. Sun Corn hates you."

Mink grunted. That she does. For allegedly slaughtering their mutual husband, Fast Horse, back before the war. Water Moccasin hadn’t swallowed that poison-gossip, but Sun Corn downed it every morning with her assee tea.

Birdie stopped before Mink and held out a stoppered leather bladder. For you, Mink.

Mink took it with a gracious nod. Maddo, Birdie. Grandmother Sunflower never forgets.

Without the herbal tonic, Mink’s monthly bleed would interfere with her duties as a warrior. But that was womanly business, the thought of which was enough to burn Water Moccasin’s cheeks.

I shall tell her. Birdie smiled, then glanced sidelong at Water Moccasin, sending his heart into spasms and seizing every muscle in his body. All but his tongue.

He said, You should eat more, woman. Plump up your scrawny frame. The perfect segue into, I could hunt a boar for you. Though sweat popped out on his upper lip, he grinned at Birdie with all the sweetness of a newborn kitten. His chipped front tooth, he’d been told, perfected the image of lovable male.

Birdie’s eyes, typically the color of a spring fawn, darkened and speared into him with the force of the midday sun, cooking him from the inside out. You do know how to insult a woman.

No lie there, but how had he...? Ah. Scrawny. Not the kindest remark now that he thought on it. Grin falling, he scratched the base of his scalp. That is...rather... Self-loathing barreled through him. Could he not form a simple sentence? So much for wooing.

Tragically, Fierce Mink was the only one of her gender with whom he could manage coherent dialogue. The rest either bored him to weeping, drove him to a cliff’s brink, or made him into an idiot.

Mink resumed leaning against Tall Bull. My brother is making a dunce of himself again, Tall Bull. Should we rescue him or punch him?

Neither, Tall Bull replied. Perhaps, Birdie will be the one to finally wallop the stupid out of him.

Mink grinned. Good plan. Have at him, Birdie.

Must you encourage her? Water Moccasin grumbled. He lifted his gaze to the offended woman. I only wanted to hunt you a boar.

Naturally, you would offer excuses instead of apologies, Birdie said in her heavily accented Muskogee. She jutted one perfectly trim hip and shelved a fist there. Her jaw cocked with it. The only swine I see here is you, Water Moccasin. But I would be happy to carve you up.

Boom. Cheers rang out.

Water Moccasin’s brows popped high.

Clapping, Mink popped off Tall Bull, who barked a laugh. That’s the way, Birdie. He shook Water Moccasin by the shoulder. Don’t take too long getting yourself out of this one. I need your voice at the war council. Mink, best not to leave him alone. On another guffaw, he strode off, wagging his unkempt head.

Lips bunching, Water Moccasin scrounged about for an apology that wouldn’t further bury him.

In the silence, Talon spoke up from behind. I am no pig, he said, voice thick with suggestion, but you are welcome to try your knife tricks on me.

Where Birdie had risen to Water Moccasin’s challenge, come toe-to-toe with him, she balked at Talon. Her fist slid off her hip as she surrendered a pace.

Something inside Water Moccasin hissed and spat, riled further by the idea of Talon ever getting within touching distance of this woman. He rounded on the man, then froze, his heart leaping with a fear that chilled his skin and drained the blood from his brain.

Casual as you please, Talon was reposed against a support beam, that pipe of his clamped between his molars. That lit pipe. Five paces from the magazine.

One spark. One. And the entire fort would be blown back to Creek country.

Sister, Water Moccasin gritted through his tight jaw.

Mink turned. Inhaled sharply.

Her fear rattled him into action. Stalking forward, he plucked the pipe from the warrior’s mouth. The man had the audacity to tip his head back and laugh as if he knew exactly the danger he played with. Water Moccasin ignored the taunt and reached behind him to pass off the pipe. Once Mink relieved him of it, he brought his arm back with the speed of his namesake.

The blow to Talon’s nose bolted pain up Water Moccasin’s arm and sent Talon wheeling. His back collided with the support beam. The structure shook, releasing dirt and dust onto their heads.

Birdie cried out in alarm.

Mink shouted an order. Not at him but somewhere behind.

Blood spurted like a spring from Talon’s face. On a feral growl, he launched off the beam, arm cocked, but he swayed, and Water Moccasin saw his swing coming a league off.

He batted off the feeble attack and hauled back for another strike. Focused on the man’s bloody teeth, he didn’t sense anyone come up behind him, didn’t register the barked warning. Until his elbow, flying back, slammed into warm flesh. The distinct snap of cartilage giving way preceded the sickening sound of a woman’s scream of pain.

Water Moccasin whirled, horror pounding through him.

Bent at the waist, Birdie held both hands over her face.

Where had she come from? And what had possessed her to try and step in!

Blood poured from between the cracks in her fingers and garbled her voice. "You, you struck me!"

Accident, accident, forgive me! were the words zipping through his head. You got in the way! were the ones that came out.

The wordless shout tearing from her throat was pure fury.

Brother, I couldn’t... Mink had gone pale where she danced on her toes, hands hovering over the trembling woman, unsure. As if she’d already been smacked away once and wished to avoid a repeat. She slipped from my hold!

Talon dared to chuckle lowly behind the clamp of his fingers, his bloodied face a twin to Birdie’s.

As for the woman, she was sobbing now, shoulders shaking. A torrent of tears mingled with blood and spattered the ground.

The sight twisted Water Moccasin’s insides. Birdie, he rasped. She skipped back, and he realized he was approaching, hand outstretched, ready to assist, apologize, grovel in the dirt.

Brute! she seethed, teeth outlined in red. Violence isn’t always the answer! You stay away from me. Back. Back!

At her command, his legs churned in reverse and became tangled. He stumbled backward, arms wheeling. As he fell, he caught sight of Talon yanking his sly foot clear of Water Moccasin’s fall. The ground met his rump