ploy worked. The burly man whirled, distracted, wiping at his eyes. But how long would that hold him off?
Annabelle had never in her life felt so powerless. So useless. As long as Charles’s adversary was the only one armed, there was no way she could be certain the Cherokee would prevail. Unless...
Whipping off her cape she twirled it at arm’s length and watched it billow out. The man with the knife was temporarily distracted and Charles darted in to try to disarm him. They wrestled until the attacker whipped one arm to the side and threw Charles to the dirt.
Annabelle could tell he was stunned when he landed. Johnny ran between his uncle and the knife-wielder, shouting and hitting him with the leafy branch.
The man roared and stood tall, facing both Cherokees. He was taller and much bulkier than she was but as long as his attention was so focused on Charles, Annabelle knew she had the element of surprise on her side.
With an unspoken prayer, she circled behind the big man, threw the cape over his head and yanked it down.
Blinded and surrounded, he flailed and slashed at the silky material, cutting portions of it to ribbons and opening gaps that were almost wide enough to let him see his opponents.
Annabelle screamed. Johnny rushed at the confused thug from one side, hitting him with a solid enough blow that he instinctively whirled to redirect his attack.
That gave Charles enough time to get to his feet, knock the other man off balance and disarm him. He threw him to the ground facedown and pinned him there. “Give up and I won’t hurt you more.”
Johnny was not so forgiving. “No! Hit him again!”
Annabelle sympathized with the child, even after the thug stopped struggling, and she had to admire Charles’s self-control. She stood back, hands clenched once more, while he and Johnny tore strips from her ruined cape to truss up the would-be robber like a Christmas goose.
“Keep a sharp lookout,” Charles warned, getting to his feet and taking a defensive stance with the other man’s knife. “There were two of them. I knocked one into the river but he could have climbed out by now.”
“If he has half a wit he’s long gone,” she said. “What in the world were you doing out here all alone?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I followed Johnny,” she replied. “I’d written you a note asking you to visit and talk some sense into him before you left the city. I was on my way to the stables to ask someone to deliver it to you when I saw him running down the street. That changed everything.”
Seeing the doubt reflected in his shadowed expression she said, “Here, I’ll prove it to you.” As she slipped her hand into her skirt pocket her self-assurance turned to chagrin. “Oh, dear, I don’t know what became of my note.”
“How big was the paper?” Charles was scanning the nearby ground.
Annabelle joined him. “Small. I had folded it so it would fit in my pocket. I doubt we’ll find it without a torch.”
“Then forget it.” His brows arched. “I had thought the boy was in good company with you. Looks as though I’ll have to rethink my conclusion.”
“We had both expected to find you at the boardinghouse, sir,” Annabelle countered, spine stiff and eyes blazing from his scolding. “If you had been there, none of this would have happened.”
“Sadly, true.” He closed and pocketed the thug’s knife, then dusted off his clothing and his hands. “All right. I’ll escort you both home and then go report this fellow’s crimes.”
“But, what if he gets loose and escapes while we’re gone? What if his friend comes back and frees him?”
“That can’t be helped.” Charles slipped off his coat and shook it, then draped it over her shoulders. “You’re shivering. This will help.”
“Thank you. My cape is ruined.”
“Since you saved my life with it I will be delighted to replace it.”
“I can’t let you do that. What would people say?”
“That a gallant lady sacrificed her cape to rescue the victim of a mugging?”
“I hardly see my part as being gallant. I was merely trying to keep the fight fair.”
That made him laugh. “Have it your way. Just please allow me to buy you a new cape.”
Annabelle sighed. “I suppose that can be arranged, if you insist. The Eatons always use the same wonderful seamstress, a Miss Mills. Her shop is in Arlington, but...” Her eyes widened and she faltered, staring up at her stalwart companion. “Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Of what?”
“No one knows I ventured out tonight. If Mrs. Eaton finds out from the dressmaker that I need a new cape, she will be furious with me. And perhaps with Johnny, too.”
“Then we’ll simply keep this incident to ourselves and I’ll pay Miss Mills to do the same when I engage her,” Charles promised. “Right now, I think I should see you home so you can go back inside as if nothing has happened.”
“I never lie.”
“Then you are a truly exemplary lady,” he said, sounding amused. When he looked down at Johnny, however, his countenance sobered. “You will do as you’ve been told and stay out of trouble, Tsani. This is your home now and you will honor our tribe’s promises. Understand?”
Annabelle saw the child nod and bow his head as if the weight of the world lay on his thin shoulders. Poor little thing. Truthfully, it would be just as well if she were not sent off to boarding school. Johnny needed her there.
Her thoughts whirled and danced like moths drawn to a glowing lantern. She had prayed for guidance, assuming the answer lay merely in the choice of an alternate school. Now it was beginning to look as if her answer to those prayers was a resounding no, but for a very good reason. One that certainly countered the disappointment.
Shivering as the excitement wore off and weariness lay heavy, she was thankful for many things. One was the Cherokee ambassador’s strong arm around her shoulders and his strength to lean against.
Having been warned against allowing any grown man to touch her thus, she was terribly confused. Surely those admonitions did not apply to her current situation.
Nothing that felt this right, this perfect, could possibly be wrong.
“Were so many lamps burning in the house when you left?” Charles asked, pausing with his little group before escorting them back across New York Avenue.
Annabelle shook her head. “No. Mrs. Eaton usually does needlework in the evenings and Mr. Eaton sometimes reads the newspaper or personal communications from the president, but the rest of the rooms are rarely lit.”
