Secrets of a Midnight Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book One

by Jane Bonander

  As he passed the dormitory, Shy Fawn stepped outside. He stopped and they both looked at the black, churning sky.

  “It’s a little early for a storm.” Nicolas slid off Diablo’s back and led the animal toward the barn.

  Shy Fawn followed him. “It’s good that you’re back. Are you going to replace the maestra?”

  Nicolas walked Diablo into the barn, unhooked the rear cinch that hugged Diablo’s deep, firm belly, and heaved the heavy saddle onto the half wall of the stall. Shy Fawn’s lack of concern for Anna disturbed him. “Aren’t you even going to ask if she’s all right?”

  Shy Fawn looked away. “You know how I feel about her.”

  Nicolas replenished Diablo’s food and water. “For your information,” he said quietly, “she’s much better.”

  Shy Fawn fiddled with the leather fringe at her bodice. “She’s where she belongs.”

  Nicolas watched her out of the corner of his eye. Yes, he thought glumly. She’s where she belongs. He picked up the curry comb and began to groom Diablo, his spirits sinking lower.

  “I love her, Shy Fawn.”

  Shy Fawn swung around and faced him, pain creasing the corners of her mouth. “I’ve seen how you feel for many months.”

  Nicolas smiled sadly, but said nothing.

  “Is she coming back?”

  He glanced at her, then looked away. “She doesn’t belong out here.” None of them did. Not anymore. The compound was too close to being discovered. On his way back, he’d noticed tracks from horses and men near the spot where the hidden path forked off into the dense, heavy brush. He didn’t know who it was, but it didn’t matter. The compound was no longer a safe place to live.

  “So what will she do?”

  Nicolas shook his head, remembering Anna’s tearful pleas this morning before he’d left her. He couldn’t make her understand that he had nothing to offer.

  Shy Fawn chuckled. “Men make life a problem, a puzzle to be solved.” She clucked her tongue. “Women just want to live it.”

  Nicolas watched Shy Fawn limp away. He left the barn and crossed to the woodpile. If they were going to get a storm, they would need dry wood for burning. He shucked his shirt and jacket, picked up his ax and started splitting the heavy oak logs he and Sky had dragged in from the forest floor. The mindless job provided an escape from his troubled soul.

  He stopped long enough to look out over the tops of the trees to the solid, sheer granite cliff that surrounded the compound. One day soon someone would stumble onto the entrance. It was only a matter of time.

  He picked up his ax and sniffed the air. The wind was gone, leaving a clinging, sultry haze in the sky. And it was quiet. The crickets had stopped singing, and the birds had fled. He split another log, preparing for the storm. The sky got darker.

  Nicolas concentrated on his task and made plans to send for Sky immediately. They needed a new hideout. It wouldn’t be long before someone out hunting “slaves” would find all of them. The thought that he might not be here to protect the children slammed against his chest, and he chopped harder, as if fighting against the enemy.

  The storm broke. Trees surged and snapped in the howling wind. The rain dropped quickly; it came hard and fast, often blown so violently by the wind that it came down sideways. Lightening split the sky and struck fires on lonely tree-torn mountaintops. Everything alive and breathing was huddled in some shelter, trying to stay warm and dry. Everyone but Shy Fawn and Cub.

  The blackened, clouded night sky had been the perfect cover for their departure from the compound. Shy Fawn kept low, using the manzanita bushes as a buffer against the wind and the stinging rain. The brush choked the trail that meandered along the river, then veered south, cutting deep between the rocks that hid the opening into the valley. She hoped she would find Sky. She didn’t dare say his name, not aloud. Somehow she felt that voicing it would weaken her chances of finding him. Instead, she concentrated on his face. It was a kind face, one that held much feeling. It was a face with ancient eyes. Eyes that had frightened her with their understanding.

  The wind broke through the wall of tangled brush and whipped a low-lying tree branch against her face. She brought one hand up to protect her skin, a movement that caused Cub to squirm in the basket cradle she had attached to her back. Shy Fawn clamped her jaw shut to block out the pain that shot to her hip as she tried to keep her balance. She moved slowly, not only because she was unable to go faster, but because she had to make sure she didn’t step too far off the trail.

  She squinted into the darkness. Her sense of direction was weakened by the storm.

  “Ma! Ma! Ma!” Cub bellowed and squirmed on her back. She stopped and leaned against a granite boulder. She couldn’t go farther with her son complaining so. Perhaps if she fed him, he would sleep again. She slipped the cradle off her back and lowered it to the ground. Cub grunted and held out his arms. She lifted him out and ducked under the rocky overhang that would protect her from the storm. Opening her bodice for her son, she slumped to the ground. They couldn’t stay here long. They had to at least get out of the mountains before morning. She had to be far away from the compound before anyone saw her.

  Her eyelids felt heavy, and Cub’s warm breath against her skin heightened her feeling of lethargy. Shy Fawn decided to close her eyes for just a moment.

  Something hit her side, and she jerked awake.

  “Well, looky here, Lloyd, a squaw!” The man kicked her again.

  “Shore is. An’ there’s a nit at her tit.” The other man sucked air in through his few remaining teeth.

  “Haw, haw! Yer a poet, Lloyd! A nit at her tit!” The man squatted in front of her, his rifle resting across his thighs. “You speak English, squaw?”

  Shy Fawn lowered her eyes. She’d known many white men like these two. She would not show them fear, but she knew better than to stand up to them.

  “Hey, she ain’t a bad looker if it weren’t for that tattooin’ she has on her chin.” He pulled Cub off his mother’s chest and dangled him in the air. “An’ she’s got nice tits, for a squaw.” Cub started to squall. The man smacked him across the face and tossed him at his friend.

  Shy Fawn bit back a scream.

  “Keep the shitter quiet. I gotta piss.” He unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his half-hardened organ. “Gawdammit,” he muttered, “I can’t pee with a hard-on.”

  “Hell, screw the bitch and get it over with.” The man called Lloyd tucked the whimpering Cub under his arm. Cub’s arms and legs flailed helplessly in the air.

  “Git outta here with that brat.” The other man fumbled with his fly as Lloyd moved out of sight.

  “No!” Shy Fawn lunged toward Cub, who was wailing and holding his tiny arms out to her.

  The filthy man jerked her arm and hit her with the back of his hand. Pain shattered through her face as stars and lights danced before her eyes.

  She glanced up at the evil man standing before her, and memories of a nightmare just like this one hammered at her head. She tried to scoot away, but he grabbed her again.

  “We can do this with you awake or knocked senseless. Makes no difference to me,” he snarled as he pushed her to the ground.

  Shy Fawn squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the pain.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A clap of thunder split the air, rumbling through the dark, quiet house. Anna rolled over in bed and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She glanced at the rain-spattered window and shivered. Apprehension gnawed at her. She hoped Nicolas and the children were warm and dry.

  Closing her eyes, she remembered their good-bye. She’d thought of nothing else the past twenty-four hours. She’d vacillated between storming to the compound and refusing to leave, to finding a job in a nearby community and waiting until he came to his senses. Never once had she thought about going home. No matter how bossy and masterful Nicolas was, it was time he changed. And she knew she was just the person to change him, no matter what he thought. How could he possibly believe
that they’d be best off apart? Somehow she had to convince him that she didn’t care if she lived in a mud hut, as long as he was there with her.

  Men were so hopelessly stubborn and pigheaded, she thought as she slid out from under the covers. She got out of bed and crossed to the glass balcony door. Pulling the curtain aside, she peered out into the gray dawn. The rain had stopped, but the air was still wet.

  Shivering, she dressed hurriedly and was ready to leave the room when she heard a strange cry from outside. She stepped to the window again and pulled the curtain aside. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.

  Shy Fawn and Cub! Anna stared down at the two men who accompanied them. She shuddered. They were a scruffy-looking pair, bearded and unkempt. She dropped the curtain back in place, her thoughts scattered and confused.

  She tiptoed to Marcus’s room and heard him snoring lightly behind the door. Hurrying down the stairs, she looked around quickly before crossing the noisy wood floor into the study. She ran to the desk and fumbled with the drawer where she knew he kept a gun. Her heart dropped. The drawer was locked.

  Gathering her wits, Anna headed for the cabinet on the back wall and lifted a heavy rifle off the rack. Oh, why hadn’t she ever learned to shoot? It didn’t matter, she reasoned. Nobody knew that but her.

  Just as she was about to leave the study, she heard pounding at the front door. She nearly slid across the polished wood planks on her way to the storage door beneath the stairs. She pulled on the knob, expelling a shaky sigh of relief when the door opened. As she slipped inside and pulled the door shut, she heard someone racing down the stairs. The pounding on the door continued.

  “Jesus Christ!” she heard Marcus mutter as he raced across the floor.

  He finally opened the front door. Anna tried to calm her noisy, bumping heart so she could hear the conversation.

  “Got you a squaw and a nit, Gaspard,” one of the men said.

  “What in hell do I want with them?” Marcus sounded impatient.

  “Well,” the man said, “Lloyd and me found her not far from that spot we was searchin’ out the other day.”

  Anna swallowed and tried to breathe quietly through her mouth. She heard Marcus swear again.

  “Get inside,” he growled. “In there.”

  Anna listened as noisy boots clattered over the floor.

  There were footsteps on the stairs again. “Marcus?” Gretchen sounded irritated. “Who is it?”

  “Get the hell into your room and shut the door.”

  “What is it? Marcus,” she shouted, “what’s the matter? Is it Papa? Has something happened to Papa?”

  “Nothing’s happened to your stupid, lovesick father. Now, get back in your room.”

  Anna took a deep, shaky breath and closed her eyes. She stayed where she was until the hallway was quiet again. Then, pushing the door open a crack, she glanced into the foyer. Except for the mumbling of voices behind the study door and the ticking of the clock, the house was eerily quiet.

  She crept to the door and listened.

  “Had to take care of that stable hand of yours,” one of the men said.

  Anna closed her eyes and prayed they hadn’t killed José.

  She glanced toward the kitchen. Concetta was usually clanging pots and pans around by this time. Anna had a sinking feeling that she, too, was out of the way. The rifle was getting heavy, and she carefully rested the butt on the floor.

  “So,” Marcus said. “You found the squaw all alone, except for the brat.”

  “Shore did,” one of the men answered. “Don’t seem likely she’s been livin’ up there all by herself.”

  She heard a sharp crack, and when Shy Fawn groaned, Anna sucked in her breath and put her hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t do no good to beat her, Gaspard. We done plenty of that before we got here.”

  “That and more, no doubt,” Marcus said.

  Anna began to shiver, but clenched her jaws together.

  “Where were you coming from, squaw?”

  Silence. Another slap and a low, agonizing moan.

  Anna pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Shy Fawn’s pain was almost palpable.

  “Gladhew, give me the brat.”

  She heard Shy Fawn wail, and had to swallow her own cry of alarm. Cub began to scream.

  “No! No! I’ll tell you!”

  Anna gasped. Without another thought, she hiked up the gun and pushed open the door to the study. “Don’t!” she shouted. “Don’t tell them!”

  Anna stared at the scene. Shy Fawn was on the floor, on her knees. The man standing over her, his bony fist clamped around her long, black braids, had a knife at her scalp. Marcus was holding a knife to Cub’s throat, and he’d pricked the skin, for there was blood on the blade.

  Anna swallowed her panic and pointed the rifle at Marcus. “No, Shy Fawn,” she said, her teeth chattering, “no.”

  Marcus gave her a cold smile. “Well, well. I see there’s no need for introductions, here.” He pressed the knife against Cub’s neck. Cub whimpered and tried to pull Marcus’s hand away from his throat, leaving his tiny fist red with blood.

  Shy Fawn gasped and closed her eyes.

  “Recovered from your amnesia, Anna?”

  “Go to the devil, Marcus.” She stepped farther into the room, gripping the rifle hard to keep from shaking.

  Marcus let out an evil chuckle. “Listen to the proper schoolmistress, Gladhew.”

  She flicked a glance at the man holding Shy Fawn’s braids. He was filthy and had a wild look in his eyes. “Let—” She cleared her throat and swallowed. “Let Cub go, Marcus, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

  Marcus laughed, unconcerned. “I’ll have this little nit’s throat sliced before you get off a shot.”

  Anna looked at Shy Fawn, who stared back at her, her eyes wide with pleading.

  “Ah,” Marcus said, his voice dripping with pleasure. “Freeman. Just in time.”

  Anna didn’t turn her head. “Even I’m not naive enough to fall for that one, Marcus.” She took a step backward and suddenly someone grabbed her around the waist and tore the gun from her grasp. She choked back a cry as the other man pushed her onto the sofa. She sagged against the back.

  Marcus chuckled again. “Freeman was outside, standing guard.”

  She slid into the farthest corner of the sofa and glared at Marcus. It was almost impossible for her to believe that a man with so much evil in his soul could be related to Nicolas.

  “Ah, Anna,” Marcus said, sighing. “You’ve made this too easy for me.” He handed Cub to Freeman, walked over and stood in front of her.

  “What’ll we do with that one?” Gladhew eyed her greedily, and Anna’s skin crawled.

  Marcus gave her a sneering half grin. “I have a feeling the schoolmistress will be very helpful in, at the very least, sniffing out the Marauder.”

  Her heart raced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marcus sighed and went to the window. He ran his fingers over the small, rectangular panes of glass. “Funny thing about windows.” His voice was unthreatening, conversational. “Sometimes they’re a mixed blessing.” He shook his head, turned and faced her. “Like the night before last. I had a devil of a time with the one in my bedroom. The wind seemed to catch it just right, and it rattled all night long.”

  He strolled back toward the sofa. “The last time I got up to fix the damned thing, I saw someone jump from the balcony.” He stood in front of her. “Your balcony, Anna.”

  The words came at her like a blow. She flinched, but didn’t look away.

  “I recognized my savage half brother’s long, arrogant stride as he hurried away, but by the time I’d dressed and tried to follow him, I’d lost him.”

  Anna’s eyelids fluttered closed in relief, but she caught herself and continued to glare up at him.

  “Still have nothing to say, Anna?”

  She glanced at Shy Fawn, who was still on her knees on th
e floor, her braids in Gladhew’s fist.

  Freeman had given Cub a piece of jerky from his pack. The child had rubbed his eyes and nose with his bloody fist and now, as he gnawed on the stringy beef, he looked like a little cannibal.

  Anna’s eyes rested on Freeman. He seemed almost gentle with Cub. Maybe he didn’t have the mean streak that both Gladhew and Marcus had. Maybe she could appeal to his sense of justice. Or at least to his sanity. She glanced up and found Marcus watching her, so she looked away.

  “You care about the squaw and her nit?”

  Anna fought for an air of indifference. “No,” she said impassively as she picked imaginary lint from her skirt.

  “Then you don’t care if we kill them?”

  Fear left her skin cold and clammy. “Why bother? You have me to bargain with now.”

  Marcus nodded to Gladhew, who sliced one of Shy Fawn’s braids off at the scalp.

  Anna choked back a cry.

  Shy Fawn closed her eyes. Her shoulders shook slightly, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Anna’s heart continued to sit in her throat. “That wasn’t necessary, Marcus.”

  “Necessary?” he screamed. “I’ll decide what’s necessary.” He nodded at Gladhew again, and the filthy, vulgar man cut off Shy Fawn’s other braid. He swung both of them over his head, howling like an Indian on the war path.

  Anna knew that Shy Fawn’s grip on her emotions was slipping away. Abruptly, Shy Fawn turned her head, drew back and flung a mouthful of spittle into Gladhew’s face.

  Gladhew swore. He wiped off his face with his grimy sleeve, planted his heavy boot on Shy Fawn’s backside and sent her sprawling across the floor.

  Marcus grabbed Anna’s dress at the throat and hauled her off the sofa. “Next time, he’ll cut off one of her tits,” he threatened.

  Anna swallowed hard. She looked at Shy Fawn, who was slowly picking herself up. Their eyes met, and Anna saw nothing but angry defiance in Shy Fawn’s dark, teary gaze.

  Defeat made Anna weak. “What do you want?”

  “Take us to Nicolas.”