Too Far to Whisper Read Online Free Page B

about to ask him why, but Nathaniel hastened off in the direction of the workers. She scurried after him.
    At Nathaniel’s beckoning, the two men halted their work and moved toward the approaching couple. Nathaniel paused and turned a stern gaze on the pair. He assumed an authoritative stance, his arms folded across his chest, his feet braced apart, as he awaited their arrival.
    They were Indians.
    Rosalind silently scolded herself for allowing that fact to unnerve her. After all, it was not as if she rarely encountered Indians. They frequently ventured into town to trade. Still, whenever she was in the presence of one, she felt ill at ease. 
    The two workers, both carrying spades, now stood directly before her and Nathaniel. Rosalind’s gaze instantly was drawn to the younger of the two. He wore snug leather breeches, nothing more. His muscular chest and taut, flat stomach glistened with a light film of perspiration. His chest was hairless and smooth, something she was not accustomed to seeing. Her eyes rose. His hair, well past his shoulders in length, was glossy and so black, it shone blue in the sunlight, and was held back with a strip of leather. Rosalind decided that his face, with its high cheekbones, strong chin and jaw, and large, dark eyes with their thick fringe of lashes, was one of the most striking she had ever seen.
    The other Indian, who was similarly attired, was several inches shorter, much older and not nearly as muscular nor as visually appealing as his companion. Curiously, he also had two prominent slits carved just above each nostril on his hawk-like nose.
    “The Indians who trade in town have told us this one is called Shadow Runner.” Nathaniel inclined his head toward the younger man. “Shadow, for short. Last summer, my father caught him trying to steal one of our finest ewes. The savage so badly injured the animal, it had to be slaughtered. Had the decision been mine, he would have been swinging from the gallows, but my father instead chose to put him to work here until he is satisfied the sheep’s value has been met. For some reason, my father seems bent on keeping peace with the savages.”
    Rosalind eyed Shadow somewhat warily. His unblinking black eyes returned her gaze. The way he stood – straight, with his shoulders back – and the way he held his head with his chin tilted upward, gave him an air of importance, even regality. Shadow, she was convinced, was more than just some common sheep thief.
    “Although he appears to understand some of what we say,” Nathaniel continued, “he has never spoken. I do not know if it is because he cannot or will not.” He shrugged. “From what I have heard, he is the son of a sachem, but I am finding that bit of information difficult to believe. No son of a chief ever would have allowed himself to be disgraced by being caught doing something as paltry as stealing a sheep.”
    Shadow’s expression remained closed, but Rosalind noticed his fingers tighten around the handle of his spade. The Indian was neither shackled nor guarded, which puzzled her. “Why does he not escape?”
    “Getting caught for thievery dishonored him,” the older Indian responded in surprisingly good English. “He now must accept his punishment, not run from it like a coward.”
    “That one is called Silver Cloud,” Nathaniel said. “He stole from his own people, repeatedly. Offenders such as he are oft permanently branded to mark them as thieves. In Silver Cloud’s case, the sachem slit his nostrils.”
    Rosalind grimaced at Nathaniel’s words. In all of Ben’s frightening tales about Indians, he never once had mentioned nostril slitting. And even if he had, she doubted she would have believed him.
    “He is an outcast, shunned by his people,” Nathaniel added.
    Rosalind noticed that Silver Hawk’s jaw clenched in response to Nathaniel’s words.  She thought it odd the captain would speak of each man as if he were invisible, when both were standing right