Blood and Oak: Wolves Will Eat by Garrett Bettencourt

Author:Garrett Bettencourt [Bettencourt, Garrett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Iroquois Trading Post

Somewhere along the Susquehanna River

Two Years Ago

Dominique Dufort recoiled as a tongue left her ear dripping. “Ugh!” She dropped her oar. “Get off of me, you beast!”

The twenty-three smugglers in the Penelope’s launch snickered. Dominique had been at the bow, watching the boat’s approach to the rickety dock. She turned around and found herself looking at the offender, who panted hot breath in her face.

“Why did you have to bring him, anyway?” Dominique sneered at the shaggy Irish wolfhound. The dog pressed himself between John Sullivan and another oarsman, tail wagging, eyes bright. A string of drool from his jowls landed on her arm, and she wiped it on her buckskin leggings. “Your dog is disgusting!”

“I didn’t ask him to come.” John Sullivan pulled on his oar, his cheek dimpling as he feigned innocence. “He’s taken a liking to you. He doesn’t follow just anyone, you know.”

Woof! said the dog with an excited whine. More snickering.

Dominique glared at Sullivan. “Well? Aren’t you going to do something?”

“Right away, Miss!” said Sullivan, jumping up. Instead of corralling his hound, he slipped past her. His chest brushed across her in the cramped space. “Apologies, but someone has to catch the dock.”

“What?” Dominique cried, remembering her earlier task. The nose of the boat nearly crashed into the decaying jetty, but Sullivan leaped onto the bow and caught it with his foot. The impact nearly knocked her off her feet, but Sullivan caught her hand.

“After you, Miss Dufort.” Sullivan swept a hand toward the shore. His eyes were soft with youth but sharpened by early manhood. It annoyed her to find him so handsome.

Dominique grumbled as she stepped out of the boat. She followed a trail leading through tall rye toward a log tavern, several dozen yards from the creek. Jaunty music and laughter filtered from within. In the gloom of the cloudy day, the windows glowed with lamplight. She heard Sullivan and his dog trotting to catch up.

“Are you sure about this?” said Sullivan. “Oakleaf Tavern can be a rough place. It’s mostly frontier trappers, traders, and Indians that stop here. Not all of them reputable.”

“I was raised Haudenosaunee,” said Dominique, rolling the word easily from her tongue. The whine of a fiddle grew louder as they approached. There was a sound of shattering glass inside, then a round of laughter. Beads of sweat dripped beneath the wide brim of her hat in the humid heat. “Why do you think I’m Laffite’s quartermaster on the Chesapeake Run? I’m the only reason any smuggler can set foot in Iroquois trading posts without taking a hatchet in the chest. Anyway, nobody asked you to come—or your mangy beast.”

“I can’t let you go in there alone.” Sullivan gripped the hilt of a rusty cutlass stuck through his belt.

“Please.” Dominique rolled her eyes. “You’re not here for my protection, I’m here for yours.”

Dominique stopped short of the door and met the dour gaze of two Oneida men. They wore midnight blue tunics with beaded tassels and strips of wampum.

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