Читать книгу Walks Alone - Sandi MDiv Rog - Страница 9

That night, rather than return to camp, they traveled long and hard. The deeper they went into the mountains, the deeper Anna’s heart sank. Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt sleep taking over, but she opened her eyes in haste. She wouldn’t dare fall asleep this time.

Black shadows of the forest came alive. The thought of wild animals lurking in the darkness made her move instinctively closer to her captor. Branches stretched out, reaching for her as if they knew she’d try to escape, and those same wicked pines shadowed the moon and stars, the only part of the forest offering her comfort.

White Eagle hummed, his chest reverberating against her side. It made her feel less alone, and she hated the fact that it stilled her nerves. Sleep tugged on her lids, and the baritone melody lulled her against him like a soft wind swaying a leaf. She forced her eyes open. “Stop it,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the darkness, but he continued to hum.

“Bonne nuit, ma chérie.” White Eagle’s breath tickled her ear.

Her lids grew heavy. What’d he say? Gentle shadows faded in and out, until finally she gave in to the stillness, to the low rumbling of his chest, to the murmuring of his voice.

When she opened her eyes, the early morning light and birds singing in the trees greeted her. She was still on White Eagle’s horse, and they must have traveled the entire night.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

She pushed away from his body. Its warmth, though still inviting, clung to her. At least now, he wore a shirt with fringes along the arms and seam. Still, she would rather suffer from a chill than be so close to the man.

“You never told me your name.”

She straightened her skirt and turned her face away. He may have been able to keep her from getting home, but he couldn’t force her to say her name, not even if he threatened her with snakes. Her taste of freedom had been short lived, and she was tired of being everyone’s prisoner.

“You’re not from New York. I could hear it last night. You had an accent. Where are you really from?”

“None of your business.” Ashamed that proper pronunciation had failed her the night before, she was determined to speak better today, no matter how nervous she became.

“Let’s rest here.” He helped her dismount near a river and then pointed to a clump of bushes. “You can go there. And don’t try to escape. If you take too long, I’ll come after you.”

Her face heated at the thought of his finding her in such a state. She hurried to take care of business as he led the painted beast to drink.

When Anna returned, all she saw were trees. Across the river was a solid rocky cliff, and just beyond that, another snow-capped mountain. How would she ever get home? Would this man keep his word, or was she headed for disaster?

The lightning streak along the horse’s flank and white handprints dotting his body rippled over the horse’s muscles as he drank. The detail intrigued her.

White Eagle appeared from the trees.

“Why do you paint your horse?” The words tumbled from her mouth without thought. Curiosity had gotten the best of her.

“My people believe lightning gives the horse speed. And each handprint represents one less enemy I have to deal with.” His eyes flashed beneath his mask of paint as he trudged toward her.

So he was a murderer. If only she’d escaped last night when she had the chance. At least then the lights of Denver were near. How had she gotten herself into such a mess?

Julesburg.

Funny how she had mistrusted that gentleman who had spoken to her on the train. All he had done was look at her, and she’d run away. Now here she was held captive by a savage.

She plopped down on the ground. The bustle in her dress was losing its spring, as was she. She opened her carpetbag and carefully took out the pictures of her parents. Would they be disappointed in her? Maybe she should have stayed in New York.

No. She never should have had to endure Uncle Horace’s abuse. She had found a way out and worked hard to take it. Besides, she had been Uncle Horace’s captive long enough. But didn’t she find herself in much the same circumstance?

She sensed White Eagle standing behind her.

“Who are they?”

“None of your business,” she said.

He knelt down. The warmth of his nearness made her shiver. “Your parents?”

She didn’t answer.

Walking around, he sat next to her and held out some dried meat. “It’s elk.”

Her stomach hurt after refusing to eat the night before. She didn’t care what it was, as long as it wasn’t turtle, so she took it from him.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She really didn’t want to show any form of thankfulness, but the habit of good behavior betrayed her feelings. She bit into the dried meat. Its rich flavor made her mouth water for more.

He moved onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, and took a bite of his jerky.

“May I see?” he said, gesturing toward the photographs.

Chin up, she held them out just far enough for him to see but refused to let go of the frames.

“Your mother?”

Anna nodded.

“She was beautiful. You look like her.”

Her cheeks grew warm, but she dismissed the compliment. In hopes that she wouldn’t try to escape again, he might be trying to win her over with his smooth words, just like Uncle Horace did with his woman-of-the-week. He’d con them with his pretty talk, and once he got what he wanted, he dismissed them.

Gently, she wrapped the frames back up and put them away in her carpetbag. She took out her mirror and brush, and nearly fainted when she caught a glimpse of her face. The lower half was red and chapped, while the top half was white. She’d never looked so awful. Freckles would definitely come out. She moaned.

“It’s not so bad.” He cleared his throat in a way that sounded like he stifled a chuckle. “Smear mud on your face. That’ll protect your skin from the sun.”

“I’d look awful.”

“No worse than now.”

She turned to give him a piece of her mind then noticed a hint of amusement playing in his eyes. Managing a “humph,” she turned back to the mirror. Her hair was full of pine needles and burs. She picked out what burs she could and pulled the brush through its tangles. It was far too long. What a pain it was brushing through the snarls.

“Want me to help?”

“No.” She jerked the brush through a knot. “Don’t touch me.”

He took a deep breath. “Fine.” He continued to lie there, watching.

Turning her back to him, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and brushed through the strands. She felt his eyes burning through her. “Stop looking at me.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.

“A beautiful woman can’t expect a man not to look when he has the chance.”

Her cheeks went hot. “Don’t you have something to do? Shouldn’t you go feed the horse or something?”

They both glanced at the horse. He was eating the grass between the trees.

“Well, just go away and leave me alone.”

“You’ve missed a spot,” he said, holding up a strand full of knots and burs.

“How dare you touch me.” She snatched it from him.

“I touched you more last night.” He chuckled. “This was nothing.”

“That’s because you were busy kidnapping me.” She climbed to her feet, moving her skirt out from under her. “You have no right to laugh and act as though nothing is wrong. You’re a kidnapper. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be in—”

“Denver City. I know.” His eyes narrowed, and he acted as though he just tasted something nasty. “If I hear you say that name again, I’ll gag you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He raised his brow. “I would.”

“Why you . . . you—”

“You what?” He lifted a shoulder.

“Savage.”

He frowned.

Good, her words had the effect she wanted. She marched toward the stream.

“We better get going.”

“What? We hardly had time to rest.” Her backside was killing her, and the last thing she wanted was to get back on that horse.

“We’ll stay in the shade of the trees as much as possible. Don’t want your burn to get worse. It means going the long way, so we don’t have much time. But first, get rid of that wire from under your dress.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He waved a hand. “Do it.”

“Why?” She would be forced to buy a new bustle.

“It’s in the way.” He pointed to some nearby bushes. “Go.”

She stomped over to the bushes, and with trembling hands she wiggled out of her bustle. “Lord, I don’t know what You have in mind,” she mumbled. “But please get me out of this. And soon.” The hem of her skirt fell to the ground and dragged in the dirt. It would be ruined.

When she returned, he’d bound her carpetbag to the horse and mounted. He motioned for her to toss the bustle aside. She hesitated. The red stripes suddenly seemed darker across his cheeks and chin, and when his mouth turned downward, she dropped it at her feet. He could look awfully mean and threatening when he wanted to, especially his eyes behind that black mask of paint.

He swung her up on the horse in front of him, his large hand encasing her own. One would be enough to clamp itself around her neck and strangle her to death. When she came down, she gasped from the pain in her rump.

He took her about the waist and set her on his thigh. It did ease the ache, but she was uncomfortably close to the man.

~*~

Later in the day, when they stopped near a stream, Anna watched White Eagle pull free his bow and arrow. He leaped onto a protruding rock with ease. Without a sound, he armed his bow with a slender arrow and aimed it at the water.

He stood there like a statue, and Anna couldn’t help but admire the beauty of his dark hair as it hung over his broad shoulders. The sunlight cast a blue sheen over the thick strands.

She crossed her arms and waited. Would he succeed in making a catch? His face was serious beneath the bandit-like mask of black paint, and she tried to imagine what he would look like without it. The hard curves and outlines of his exposed jaw were rather attractive. The wind caught the leather dangling in his hair. From his moccasins, to his leggings, to the feathers in his hair, he was like no man she’d ever met.

The arrow flew into the water faster than she could blink, and he jumped in after it. When he pulled it up, a large fish floundered on its end.

She shrugged and turned her back to him. So she was impressed—that didn’t mean she had to show it.

After eating, they were off again. By nightfall she was exhausted but relieved that the sun hadn’t been beating down on her like before. Her head, for once, didn’t ache, and her backside wasn’t nearly as sore.

After making camp for the night, they ate a rabbit White Eagle had shot. She didn’t mind preparing rabbit; she’d done that a number of times for Uncle Horace.

The stars were bright, and a whisper of wind in the pines had a calming effect. The mountain air carried a peacefulness to it she’d never experienced before. In New York City the rumble of carriages over cobblestones and the laughter and talk of people always filled the streets. Here, all was quiet, tranquil, as though she were alone in the world, almost like a dream. But this dream was a nightmare, and she’d never be able to escape with wakefulness.

Soon, supper was over and darkness cloaked the trees. White Eagle added branches to the campfire. He heaped together pine needles and spread buckskin over them next to the fire. He then motioned for her to come.

The firelight danced in his eyes as she walked over to him. Slowly she knelt down on the soft skin, taking in the warmth of the flames.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

Exhausted, she curled up near the warm fire, surprised at the softness of the ground beneath her. She rested her head on her arm, thinking how much more comfortable this bed of pine needles was compared to the thin blanket she’d slept on next to the wagons.

White Eagle stretched out on the buckskin and lay down behind her.

She stiffened, trapped between him and the flames.

“Don’t want you sneaking off again,” he said, causing every nerve to stand on alert.

“And where would I go? I can’t see Denver City anymore.”

Burning pine, mingling with his musk and leather, filled her senses. Conscious of the length of his body so near hers, she stared for a long time into the flickering flames, afraid to move, afraid they might inadvertently touch. But eventually, her eyes grew heavy and the noise of nearby crickets lulled her to sleep.

Sometime in the night, a blood-curdling howl awakened her. She bolted upright.

She was alone.

The howl came again, echoing off the canyon walls, and several more howls joined in. The light hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. The fire had dimmed, and White Eagle was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Eagle?” she called, her voice small.

From out of nowhere, branches dropped onto the flames.

“Here,” he said, his voice a welcoming comfort, and for the first time, she was glad to see him.

“What was dat . . . that?” she asked, still shivering with fear.

More howls came again, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He knelt down behind her and wrapped his buckskin around her, enveloping her in his protection.

“You’re safe,” he whispered in her ear.

“What was it?” She clung to him.

“Coyotes.”

She bristled. “Will they attack us?”

“Not if we stay close to the fire.”

“I hope Bet is safe.”

“Running Cloud will keep her safe.”

“He would harm me.” Anna rested her chin on her knees.

“She pleases him.”

White Eagle tightened his arms around her; she didn’t fight it. Warmth, safety, and calm radiated from him.

“So, Woman Of Sorrow has a name. What about you, Walks Alone?”

“Humph.” She turned her nose in the air, not caring if she risked the comfort of his arms. He was her captor, and she wasn’t about to give him what he wanted.

Thankfully, he continued to hold her.

After some time, he encouraged her to lie down. She gazed into the flames, wishing she was anywhere but lost in the dark Rocky Mountains of Colorado Territory. It was as if the wilderness had swallowed her whole. What she wouldn’t give to be in civilization again.

She cautiously moved closer to him. His heavy arm draped over her waist, its calming strength warming her.