Morning Dove hummed softly as she scrubbed her buckskin dress in the river, rubbing the soft fabric against the rock beside her. The sound of children's laughter lingered in the crisp breeze. It was unseasonably mild for December, the men making the most of the weather. They'd left at dawn to hunt and wouldn't be returning until late.
The baby within her kicked sharply as Morning Dove stood, rubbing her lower back.
A son.
Only a son could kick with such ferocity.
Morning Dove smiled, watching her stomach roll beneath her buckskin dress for a long moment. The baby was her miracle after so many miscarriages. Her husband needed an heir and with a long string of deaths after the birth of their daughter, Morning Dove had almost suggested her husband should take another wife - one who could give him the baby he desperately needed.
The timing was never right, or perhaps Morning Dove couldn't bring herself to share her husband - to back out of his life even for the good of the tribe. He was her first love, the two growing up within the same tribe. It was fate that they should one day marry, but a daughter wouldn't be chief and Morning Dove was unable to carry another baby to full term although she tried desperately to give her husband a baby.
Chief Silver Fox never spoke of it or showed disappointment in her. Their sadness over the death of each baby was mutual, but once more they tried again, always with the same results.
Until now.
Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, Morning Dove placed a hand over her protruding womb, singing softly to her miracle baby.
Screams of terror changed everything a moment later as an arrow shot through the air, instantly killing Sly Fox. Frozen in horror, the children watched wide-eyed as the elderly warrior slumped forward, blood gushing from the fatal wound.
"Run!" Gentle Doe screamed a warning to her playmates - a warning that came much too late.
They didn't have to be asked twice as the dreaded Iroquois tribe descended upon their village, killing all the elderly men. The women, however, were spared - at least the young ones.
Morning Dove's scream died in her throat as she watched the massacre from the river's edge. She could run - she should. They weren't focused on the river and Morning Dove could swim, but it wasn't her safety that she had in mind. Morning Dove scrambled up the embankment as fast as her very pregnant body would allow, her eyes scanning the scene of horror before her knowing there was nothing she could do to save those who fell beneath the onslaught of arrows and gleaming tomahawks.
"Gentle Doe!"
The scream caught in her throat as she took off in the direction the children had been playing earlier. Morning Dove needed to save her daughter.
Gentle Doe looked up, meeting her mother's eyes but they were too far away from each other and the warriors were gaining ground.
"Mamma!" Gentle Doe shrieked in terror, watching a painted warrior leap over a boulder, his eyes focused on the chief's wife.
Reaching out her hand to her little girl, Morning Dove couldn't see the jutting rock, her large stomach obstructing her view. Twisting her foot on the roots of a tree, Morning Dove stumbled, her body hurled unceremoniously against the ground.
Within seconds, crimson blood flowed, staining the jagged rock as Morning Dove lay lifeless, her unseeing eyes still focused on her terrified daughter.
All else forgotten, Gentle Doe ran towards her mother, nimbly jumping over rocks and tree roots but before she could reach her mother, strong hands swept Gentle Doe up into the air.
Gentle Doe valiantly fought her tears as she looked down at her mother until she disappeared from sight, the warrior carrying the child off to an unknown future.
A chief's daughter doesn't cry.
Gentle Doe was no longer a chief's daughter but a captive.
Black Crow stood above the corpse of the woman lying in a crumpled heap, her head wound fatal. It was not her beauty that caught Black Crow's attention, but the baby still moving within her. Morning Dove was large, like a ripe melon. If he moved quickly, the baby might have a chance of survival. The child would never know...
Reaching for his knife, the grieving father hesitated only a moment before making his first incision, Black Crow's thoughts on his bride's reaction when he placed a live baby in her empty arms. Silver Birch would raise this one as her own - their miracle baby.
Within moments, Black Crow stood, wrapping the crying infant in his furs. The baby was perfect. Love shone in Black Crow's eyes as he turned away from the dead mother, not caring when he saw her scalped from the corner of his eye. The unfortunate woman would feel no pain and scalps were valuable. It wasn't his business anyway. Black Crow cared only for the child in his arms - his son.
At that moment, all was right with the world.
Not far ahead, Chief White Scar loosened his grip on the child as tears dampened his neck. He wasn't heartless after all. The little girl would be the answer to his wife's prayers and heal her broken heart. It was simply the way things were.
