"Captain McLendon, I believe. I will speak first with you. Mona, prepare the White Woman."

Several braves materialized beside Patrick, escorting him past the

silent watchers who'd gathered in the clearing.

"Do what they say, Catherine. I'll find a way to get us out of here."

Only Catherine heard the words of the medicine woman, uttered under her

breath, her lips curled into a deadly smile.

"I don't think so, Mr. McLendon."

Patrick climbed the steps, narrowing his eyes as his gaze met that of

the imposing figure looking down on him. Patrick didn't recognize him.

"Do I know you?""No, Captain McLendon. I am Simicco, the Sun King. I owe you a greatdebt. Had you not come to my island, I would not yet be here.Normally I would kill you, but a Natchez always repays his debts."

Patrick reached the top step and studied his captor. The man was tall,very tall, with handsome features and dark, almost mahogany skin. Hisstartlingly white teeth and short cropped hair gave him an intense lookthat must have struck terror in the hearts of his followers, and hisenemies.

"You were on my ship? You're not one of the planters.""No, I was one of their trusted slaves.""You were a slave on a sugarcane plantation?""No, I was a slave, but I was taught to entertain. To the planters I was the Dancemaster."

"But you're an Indian."

"Yes, as was my father, before he was captured and sold into slavery by

the French."

"An Indian slave?"

"Yes, Captain. You were already imprisoned and did not see me come on

board your ship. I was owned by the man you killed.""But I killed no man.""Of course not. I killed him.""Why?""It was necessary. I had prepared all my life to return. Then you came and you were my answer."

"And now you plan to kill us?"

"Us? Oh, no. I learned much from the white man. Do not kill that for

which you may have use."

That macabre statement gave Patrick no reassurance. Have use? Was he

referring to Catherine, or himself? What use could the Indian have foreither?Patrick rubbed his eyes. He'd gone without sleep for nearly two days.

From time to time his head still ached as it had the night of thestorm. Storm? It seemed only days ago that he'd rescued a girl from arunaway pirogue caught up in a sudden summer rainstorm. Now he felt as if he were caught in the middle of a different kind of storm.

This man was no ordinary slave. Patrick didn't have to be told that he was different from the slaves who'd sought refuge at Rainbow's End. "AmI to learn what plans you have for Miss Caden and myself?"

"But of course, when the time is right. For now, you will accompanyour young friend, Jillico. I think I will let him share your quarterswhile he contemplates the error of his impulsiveness."

"I won't allow you to harm Catherine."

"I don't intend to."

"Then what?"

"Soon, very soon you will understand."

What Patrick came to understand was that both he and Jillico would be prisoners, hands and feet bound, and guarded by two silent tribesmanwho had obviously been given orders not to allow them to converse.

Listening at the base of the mound, out of sight of the men above, Monafrowned. When she turned to Catherine she allowed her expression toreflect her disgust. Speaking in her native tongue Mona gaveinstructions to the women who'd come curiously forward.

Catherine found herself being led away from the settlement to athatched hut, where she was held prisoner for the next two days. She was bathed and fed. Her pitiful men's clothing was exchanged for aloose cotton garment that was more comfortable. The absence of undergarments was a shock, but by the third day she was beginning toappreciate the simplicity of her clothing-Other than two women who snickered as they ad n ministered to her needs, she saw no one. Anyattempt at communication was met with blank stares and she finally gave up. On the third day the cooking fire outside her hut was extinguishedand no food was prepared. The ground was swept clean. Fresh sleepingmats replaced old ones, and the two women began to whisper.

Clearly, something was about to happen.

Finally the two women led her out of the hut for the first time,directing her down a slope to a stream that collected in a pool deepenough to stand in.

They motioned that she should remove her clothing and get into thewater. Torn between the need for a good bath and resentment over notunderstanding what was happening, she resisted.

"Remove your garment, White Woman."

It was Mona, standing beneath a tree on a rise just above the stream.

"Why, what are you doing? Where is Patrick?"

"You are about to be reunited," she answered with a mystic smile, "assoon as you are purified."

Moments later Catherine was totally nude, submerged in the water andsubjected to vigorous scrubbing with fine sand. Her hair was rubbed with the sap from a pulpy plant, then rinsed. Next she was dressed in the same kind of garment the other women were wearing, except hers wasmade of fine white linen and beaded with shells and bits of colored stones. On her feet were moccasins detailed in the same design.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying to elicit some response fromher stony-faced captor.

"To a most sacred ceremony. Our people have been preparing for days, forgiving old debts, fasting, drinking of the black root plant. The time has come to end he old and begin the new."

"I hope you're providing a meal. I'm very hungry."

The other women looked at each other, but they iidn't answer.

By the time they'd arranged her hair, tying it with feathers andcolored stones, and drawn her back into he circle, the sky wasdarkening and a new fire was aid. Up close she could see the stepsleading up the >ide of the largest mound, at least twenty, if she couldjudge.

The people hung back, watching silently as Catheme was led to the stepsand prodded to mount them. [Tie grassy mound showed signs of recentwork. Fresh dirt filled holes left by uprooted trees and vines. The louse at the top was not old, its thatch roof still un leached by the sun. Though the village showed signs of age, much of it was new. In the distance were sugestions of other mounds still covered with vinesand brush.

On the top step, Catherine paused. From the time he'd started her climb she'd refused to look up, using he time to gather her composureand her strength. She had no idea what awaited her, but she wouldn'tlet hem know that she was afraid. A sudden breeze caught he redfeather that had been woven into her hair and whipped it across herface.

Catherine suddenly remembered the horse her sister, Amanda, had enteredin the New Year's Day race. The family desperately needed to win thepurse being ofered to pay off their plantation debts. Catherine had impulsively tied a red scarf to the horse's bridle, de- daring it wouldbring good luck. As the animal ap- aroached the finish line, the scarfhad come loose, spooking him, and he'd lost the race. Catherine couldn't help butwonder if the red feather was an omen of ill fortune to come.

"Give me your hand, White Woman."

Catherine raised her gaze to meet the eyes of a man who looked as ifhe'd just stepped out of the picture of hell she'd seen on theminister's wall back at the trading post. Where Patrick was laughterand merriment, a golden man who caught every joy and magnified itspower, this man was dark and foreboding.

"My name is Catherine," she snapped, and stepped onto the top of themound unassisted.

"And stop calling me White Woman."

"As you wish, my lady of sun and fire. Welcome."

Catherine swallowed hard and turned to look around. She might be aprisoner of this man, but she had no intention of allowing him tocontrol her.

She could see three other mounds, forming four sides to the clearing.

A second building was being constructed atop the mound opposite.

"What are you building?"

"A temple."

"And this building?"

"The house of the Sun King and the White Woman."

"What have you done with Patrick?"

"Here, Catherine."

From the shadows beside the dwelling Patrick rose and steppedforward.

He looked tired, gaunt, a strained look narrowing his eyes. Mona had said the men had fasted to prepare themselves for the ceremony. It was obvious that Patrick had been required to join them. She wondered what that meant.

Like Catherine, he'd been dressed as an Indian. He was wearing only aloincloth, his massive chest catching the glow of the flames like aglowing shield, reflecting the strange streaks of color that coveredthe scars on his body. His feet were bare and his hair had been pulledback and was held in place with a band around his forehead.

His eyes weren't laughing now; their deep blue color seemed to burnwith intensity. And once their gazes met she felt that intensityrekindle the connection between them that had been there from the first moment they'd looked at each other. He might have thought to send heraway, but nothing could separate them--ever.

She took a step toward Patrick.

"If these people are looking for a king," she said, "I think theypicked the wrong man."

Chapter Ten.

In a melody of chimes that came from the shells now fastened around herlegs and the hammered copper chains looped around her neck, Mona rosefrom one of the two thronelike chairs that had been placed on theplatform. She was dressed in a white garment made of animal skin, alsotrimmed with a beaded design of colored stones and shells. In her hand she was holding a staff.

"Silence!"

Catherine felt Patrick's hand tight on her arm, cautioning her tocomply. Without words, he drew her away from the spot where she wasstanding at the top of the steps, and to his side.

Catherine could tell from the set of his chin and the tension of his stance that he was merely waiting. There was a power about him thatdefied control, the steel will that had made him survive the longmonths in prison, the calm fury that radiated from somewhere deepwithin. Fury, not carefree laughter now filled his eyes. This was a different Patrick and she understood that there was much about this man she loved that she did not know. And yet she trusted him with herlife.

After surveying the spectators below, Mona took two steps forward tostand beside the imposing figure in the plumed headdress and cape madefrom turkey feathers. At the moment she reached the space beside theSun King, she lifted her staff and watched it burst into a crown offire.

From below a hushed ahhhh swept the watchers who fell silent in response.

"Quite a show," Patrick said in a low voice.

"I expected lightning to strike," Catherine agreed in a whisper.

After an appropriate length of silence, Mona began to speak.

"For years our people have wandered in chaos and darkness, as did ourforefathers. Many seasons ago, in the midst of evil, the sun came downto drive away the night and bring our people to plentiful life."

Catherine felt the power of Mona's words, spoken in the broken Englishand French her people had adopted in their years of dealing with thetraders and intruders on their land. There was a slight lilt to herspeech that suggested she might even have attended some kind of schoolsometime in her life.

But it was the power of the woman herself that most disturbedCatherine. She was more than a medicine woman, she was some kind ofsorcerer, or witch. Her tone was somber, her speech a rolling rhythmthat caught her listeners in its spell and overwhelmed them with thepainful memories of life.

The people listened. Not a breeze ruffled a leaf. Not a child moved,nor did an animal cry out. A muffled drumbeat began. Catherine felt a sense of terror begin to slide down her back. What was happening?

"The Sun King has heard our cries and returned to our side. Now the White Woman has joined him. They will make us strong again. Our cropsalready grow. Our children will no longer die from the white man'ssickness. The Natchez will once more be warriors and we will reclaim our rightful place in our land."

She dipped her staff and nodded her head. The drumbeat began to build,increasing in speed and intensity until it reached a fevered crescendo,then stopped.

The Sun King began to speak.

"For three days we have prepared. Our hearths are cold. Our council house is made new. We've laid fresh mats on the clean swept floor. Ourbodies have been purified by fasting and the drinking of the blackroot. We've bathed in the great river. Now, the White Woman, she forwhom we have waited, has come. Let the final celebration begin."