"Rabbit, she is called," McGilliveray said, turning to dress, such as it was. "Among her own people, she was named Bright Mirror, if I can understand her words. Cherokee cannot speak properly, not a real language like Muskogean. If you want her, there should be no problem. She is a slave, after all, only loosely of the Wind Clan."

"Tell her I think she's lovely."

"I think she knows that already. She has to get back to help with the cooking or she'll make the other women angry."

"Me Alan," he said, stepping closer to her and thumping his chest again. Then he reached out and pointed at her. "You Rabbit?"

She said her name in Muskogean, gave him another bewitching smile, and fetched a heavy sigh, then spun around and trotted back to the town with her pot of water.

"How old do you think she is, McGilliveray?" Alan wondered as he began dressing at last. "Eighteen or so?"

"More like fifteen or sixteen, I should think. Might be careful with her. Cherokee women, even married ones, can bed with anyone they please, and their husbands have to stand it. Such a thing is not done among Muskogee, any more than it is done among your people."

"Why is it that you sound remarkably like a vicar railing against Puck's Fair?" Alan complained as he re-tied his waist sash over his shirt.

"Morals are important among my people. Unlike yours."

They made their way back to the fire circle and took their seats on the mats laid out for them, Alan remembering to sit properly cross-legged, though it was uncomfortable to him. Within moments, food was delivered to them. There was venison enough to stuff an army, hot from the spits, sofkee and succotash, flat rounds of corn-bread piping hot from the stone baking ovens.

"Nice change from salt meats," he noted, wishing he had a bottle of burgundy to wash things down with.

"Cattle and pigs have no souls," McGilliveray said. "They were not made by the Great Spirits, but brought from over the ocean, and are not good to eat."

"Will you cease your infernal carping?" Alan griped, fed up.

"I am only trying to point out those things that you should know to better deal with my people during our negotiations, sir," McGilliveray sniffed primly. "Most whites have an abysmal ignorance of Indian society, which creates exactly the sort of misunderstandings we are attempting to correct. If I seem to be partial to my mother's people over what you think is your so-called superior white civilization, then I own to that partiality gladly. I think Indian life is more caring of the individual, of the earth and the gifts we may take from it. We live in harmony with Nature; you plow it flat, create your parks and gardens and call it Nature."

"A little less of it, please, sir," Cashman sighed. "Our minds are quite overwhelmed already, don't ye know. Give us a rest, eh?"

McGilliveray got the hint and directed his conversation solely to Mr. Cowell after that, or to the various Indians who had condescended to eat at their fire for Cowell's edification.

Alan tucked into his supper with a strong appetite, not without casting his gaze about to see if he could spot the Cherokee girl named Rabbit, and he finally saw her off in the dark tending a cooking pot at another fire where the women had done their work and were now taking their own victuals. She sat a little apart from the accepted Creek maidens, and was not included in their conversations except to be directed to fetch something now and again. But when left to her own amusements, he was gratified and thrilled to see how she looked up and met his gaze with a fawn-like, trusting smile of welcome. And when his plate looked to be empty, she rose quickly and brought a platter of smoking venison to refill it, kneeling down before him gracefully and playing flirtatious looks at him from beneath her down-turned face. By firelight, she gleamed copper, and when she leaned close, she smelled fresh and clean and… foresty was the only term he could think of.

"Looks like you've made a conquest, Alan," Cashman said, giving him a nudge.

"I certainly bloody hope so," Alan agreed, not taking his eyes off her. "Rabbit," he whispered, and gave her his best smile.

"Ah… Arhlan," she attempted in a voice so soft he was not sure his ears weren't playing tricks on him. Then she was gone back to her fire, stifling a girlish giggle and looking over her shoulder at him.

After supper, there were pipes to be smoked while the women gathered up the cookware. Alan noted that they had been served off tin or pewter, with only rarely a well-crafted native pot or dish being seen. Although some Indians ate with their hands, there were a lot of spoons and knives in evidence to dip into pots or spear a slice of meat with. More wood was laid on the fire in a circular pattern, spiralling outward from the center, and some powdered tobacco was cast into the flames, which were already redolent with cedar and pine resins. The night was now fully dark, and the sky was ablaze with stars above the swirling motes of sparks from the fires. The air was still humid, but cool and pleasant on the skin.

"Best we turn in early," Cowell finally said, his eyelids heavy after such a repast. "We shall have to bathe in the morning, and then attend the square-ground council while all the mikkos are still here. 'Twill be a busy day for us, gentlemen."

"Andrews," Alan called to his senior hand. "Bed your people down."

"Aye, sah. Come on, lads."

"You be needin' anythin', sir?" Cony asked.

"No, you turn in, Cony."

"Aye aye, sir."

Alan sat by the fire a while longer, puffing slowly on a pipe to develop the knack of doing so, killing time as the others drifted away. He looked over to the other fire, and saw that the Cherokee girl was the last one left, given the task of tidying up for her betters.

"Where's the necessary closet in these climes, McGilliveray?"

"Back in the woods, if you must. Be sure to dig a small hole and bury it when you're done. And don't use just any leaves. Some of the plants cause painful rashes. Ask the girl for some dry corn husks."

He rose to his feet and wandered over to the other fire, bent down and picked up some husks while she sat on her knees and looked up at him. He walked away into the darkness at the back of the compound where it butted up against some trees and bushes.

A few minutes later, he stumbled his way back towards the fire, and she was there, stepping out from between some corn-cribs and small storage huts in the darkness. He stopped and stood very near to her, and she turned sideways to the fitful light from the fire. The light accentuated her wide and high cheekbones, the sparkle in her brown eyes, and the way her skin shone. He put out a hand gently, not knowing what the custom was, and stroked her arm with unaccustomed shyness. She stepped up to him and pressed her slim body to his, looking up into his eyes from her short stature, about five feet and no more. Those magnificent young breasts brushed his shirt, driving him mad.

He slipped an arm about her waist and she leaned into him, rubbing her loins against his with a lazy, circular motion. Her face was close to his chest and her breath raised goose-flesh as she inhaled him and gently blew air on his skin.

He bent to kiss her, and she leaned back, unused to the custom, but gave him another smile to let him know that all was still well. He took her hands and she dragged him back between the corn-cribs out of the light, where they could embrace fully, and he could stroke that incredibly firm but downy body. He placed his lips on her shoulder, and she writhed in delight. His searching hands found her breasts and lifted them, rubbing his work-hardened palms across her large dark nipples, and they sprang erect and shivery to his touch. He bent down to kiss and tongue them, and she shuddered and gave a small yip of glee.

He showered kisses along her upper body, across her nose and cheeks, and brushed his lips against hers fleetingly, working slowly at finally bringing their mouths together, and this time she was not startled, but brought her face up to his, her mouth slightly open as she discovered a new thing. Her breath went musky, and her scent of arousal wafted over his senses as he groped a hand under her loose skirt to stroke her firm young buttocks. She reached away from him and fumbled with the latch-peg to one of the corn-cribs and drew him into the dry, moldy-smelling structure, where they sank to the mats on the earth in between large cane baskets of kernels. He kicked the door shut and undid the buttons of his breeches. They rolled back and forth, first one atop then the other as he fought his way out of his clothing, and his hands found the way up between her slim thighs to press against her belly. There was very little hair at all when his fingers found an entry to her body, and it drove him even more insane with wanting her. She rolled onto her back and raised her legs about his waist, reaching down to touch his member, and gave a gasp as her fingers wrapped around it, drawing it to her belly and stroking the tip against her swollen clitoris. She bit her lower lip and cried out softly as her namesake before he lost all control and forced himself against her. She was incredibly moist, yet almost too snug to take his first thrust, and for a moment, he thought it would end right there as he struggled to enter her fully. He tried thinking of the exact wording of the Articles of War.

"'An Act for Amending, explaining and reducing into one Act of Parliament, the laws relating to the Government of His Majesty's ships, vessels and forces by sea!'" he gasped as she writhed up at him, lifting her legs around his chest and spreading them wider to allow him easier entry. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders and she was moaning with total abandon by then. "'Whereas the several laws relating to the Sea Service, made at different times, and on different occasions, have been found by experience not to be so full, so clear, so expedient or consistent…' Ah, Jesus God Almighty, what a snug'un you are!"

But finally, he was completely within her and forced her to lie still for a moment by putting all his weight on her to hold her down before she bucked him off. After a half-minute's pause in the proceedings he began to thrust gently into her, and lifted himself up to allow her to move. She clung to him like a limpet, grunted and puffed and met his every thrust, squeezing his member like a firm handshake until finally she cried out and mewed in pleasure, and he followed her into bliss.

Except for a few times during the night when she had to run her errand to check the cooking fire and keep it smoldering, they were in each other's arms, napping lightly now and again, but mostly going at it like a pair of stoats in heat. For one so young, she was expert as all hell, and eager to meet his every desire, as he was hers. They did not share a single word in common, but they giggled and teased and tried to talk between their waves of passion. Alan finally dropped off for what seemed an hour or so, and then she was nudging him, rolling over on top of him and molding her maddeningly lovely body to his for warmth in the grey pre-dawn light of a foggy morning.

"Arhlan," she whispered, kissing him. "Go." She exhausted her tiny vocabulary of English words and lapsed back into Creek or Cherokee, he had no idea which.

"Rabbit," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her with his eyes still shut. "Soft rabbit. Bunny."

"Boony," she mocked.

"Soft. You say soft?"

"Soff?"

"Like these," he said, brushing her deer fur braids. "Soft."

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