Runaway

by Donna Cooner

  “Are you pleased?” she whispered.

  “Ecstatic,” he told her solemnly, that curl still on his lips. “All right, maybe ecstatic is what I feel creating the babe …” He reached out, touched her chin. Kissed her lips briefly. “I have never been happier.”

  “But—”

  “Tara, I have never been happier.” He rose, catching her hands, helping her up as well. “It would be paradise,” he told her softly, “if only we could go home.”

  She leaned against him, feeling tears burn fiercely behind her eyes. She felt his fingers, his grip tightening upon her shoulders. She looked up at him. “I will tell James to lash you to a stake if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “You won’t have to tell him that!” she promised. “Jarrett, I love you so much, I swear, I’ll not let anything happen.”

  “Come on, then,” he said huskily. “I’ve got to get you out of harm’s way.”

  They walked back to the camp together. James was already mounted, with their horses at his side. He seemed anxious. “The horses are spooky,” he said. He smiled at Tara. “There’s a chill at my neck. It’s time to leave this camp behind.”

  Jarrett helped her up on her horse, then mounted his own. James took the lead. Tara rode between the two men as Jarrett brought up the rear.

  They rode for hours. She began to feel the aches in her shoulders, back, and thighs. She no longer felt sick to her stomach, but it seemed now that her abdomen was growling away as if she kept some wild creature within it, and she prayed that the ride kept her husband and brother-in-law from hearing the ruckus.

  They rode through wild, beautiful country. When they came upon marshland where they could ride abreast, James informed her that he had told his family and people to keep on moving with the daylight, as the tribe—encumbered by children and belongings—would move more slowly than she, Jarrett, and he needed to go. He meant to go deep into the interior of the state, far south, and into the swampland of the Everglades. “You’ll be safe there,” he said. “I promise you. And Jarrett will find a way to clear you. I know that he will.”

  Tara began to believe it herself. Night fell. She spent the darkness in the swamp, high on a hammock of land, in her husband’s arms. They built no fire. She felt his warmth, and it was enough. She slept amazingly well, guarded by her husband and brother-in-law.

  The temperature remained blessedly low as they rode the next day. They rode for hours, then came upon a stretch of river where they paused, for it was filled with beautiful birds. Jarrett pointed them out to her. Cranes, egrets, herons, the unbelievably pink flamingos.

  “The land remains beautiful,” she said.

  “And deadly,” Jarrett warned. “Take care. This is cottonmouth country through here. And for every gator nose you see, I promise you there is a second nearly submerged nearby. Keep your distance.”

  She was never quite sure when Jarrett had managed to tell his brother that she was expecting a child, but when James looked back at her, apologized, and said that they might stop for a while, she became aware that he did know. There was a good copse of trees ahead, not far from a clear stream feeding off the river. “We’ll rest,” he told her.

  When they stopped, Jarrett was there to lift her down from her horse. She was sore in every bone of her body, grateful for the break, yet hoping that she’d manage to get back on her horse again. It was a trying time for Jarrett, she knew. Now he was doubly worried about her, for he was afraid to jeopardize her condition, yet he knew he had to get her out of harm’s way as quickly as possible.

  She sat on the ground in the hammock where tall pines grew. The high ground here was carpeted with them, and the trees seemed to reach the sky. Jarrett went down to the stream for water, and James sat before her, having offered her more of the meat, telling her she needed to try to eat again.

  This time it seemed that the meat went down well. In fact it seemed absolutely delicious. She could have eaten pounds of it, she thought, but the men had to eat as well, and she tried to appear satisfied with one piece.

  James was smiling at her. “Eat more.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  “You must keep up your strength and your health.”

  “You and Jarrett must have something too. If you pass out from hunger, how will I get through?” she demanded.

  James shook his head. “Neither of us will pass out from hunger. We’ve both gone without eating several days at a time—my people literally starve often. We learn to go without. But you mustn’t, not now. For your sake, for my brother’s sake. If he really must leave you with us, I am going to see to it that he returns to a healthy son this time.”

  Tara laughed softly. “A son? This from a man with two daughters?”

  “Jarrett will have a son. He lost a child. This one will …”

  “Replace it?” she asked softly.

  “One life never replaces another,” James told her. “Each is special and unique. But this child will give you both back life, and I pray God, it will grow to help with the healing of our peoples and our land.”

  She smiled, reached out to him, and squeezed his hands. “Thank you!” she said softly.

  Jarrett came back with canteens filled with water. Tara drank deeply, felt Jarrett’s black gaze upon her, and slowed down.

  After a moment she rose. “Just where is the water, Jarrett?” she asked.

  “Down there. If you need more—”

  “I need to walk!” she told him and grimaced. “If I don’t get some of this awful stiffness out of me, I’m afraid I won’t even be able to get on a horse again!”

  “We’re deep into Indian country now,” James advised.

  Jarrett, chewing on a piece of the meat himself, leaned back against a pine and seemed somewhat to relax. He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  She left them and walked across the pine forest, over the trail, and then down a damp embankment. It was amazing how quickly the land changed here! One minute she had been on high, firm ground. Down by the water the ground itself seemed to be wet as well.

  She found a tree stump by the water and sat upon it. She pulled off her shoes and stockings to wiggle her feet in the cool water, sighing at the wonderful way it felt. She leaned over the water, once again bathing her face and throat in its coolness.

  When she came up, she was puzzled by a feeling of unease that seized her.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  Jarrett! she thought. He had come to her, just as he had come to her earlier that morning.

  But the thought faded instantly. She knew her husband’s touch.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but a large hand clamped down upon it. An uncalloused hand, one that had never been used for physical labor. One with a large ruby upon the middle fìnger. One attached to an arm that wore an overly ruffled, lace-edged shirt.

  Clive Carter!

  Oh, sweet Jesu, how had they come so far, so fast! He didn’t belong in the swamp and hammock and marshes! Rivers of fear and distaste seemed to wash through her; she thought she’d pass out. Dear God, she had run so long ago! She had never thought to feel his hands upon her again, never thought that he would touch her.

  “Don’t scream!” Carter warned her. “Don’t scream. That black-eyed savage of yours will come running through the trees—and I’ll have to shoot him right in the heart. I’m a damned good shot. But then, you know that. I managed to get my shot in at my father, and I wasn’t even carrying a gun. It’s amazing how easy it can be to devise a murder without even getting blood on your hands.”

  She was stunned to realize that he was all but confessing to the murder of his father. Then she wondered why she should be so surprised. She knew she hadn’t killed Julian. And they had both known since the deed had been done and she had first locked eyes with him across his father’s drawing room that he had made the arrangements for the fatal shot to be fired. A confession to her meant nothing. It would always be her word against his, except that he had been
certain that there had been a roomful of people as witnesses to what had apparently been her guilt.

  He had one arm locked around her; his other hand remained clamped tight over her mouth and all but covered her nose. She couldn’t breathe. She would pass out. Worse. She was beginning to feel sick again. His cologne had mingled with the sweat of his body, and it seemed overwhelming.

  She tried to bite his finger. He yelped, easing his hold just a fraction.

  “Let me go!” she cried. “I’m going to be sick.” She tried to look around. She didn’t see Tyler Argosy, or any of the army men from the fort who would have been his escort here on their mission to uphold the law. Clive had found her on his own.

  “You’re as slippery as a snake, Tara, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let you go. It’s taken me forever to get my hands on you. Now, you’ll never escape me.”

  He started to rise, dragging her up with him. She saw the harsh, satisfied, and cruel smile that cut across his face, the glitter of pleasure at her fall that lit within his eyes.

  “You could have had everything, you stupid bitch!” he told her softly, adjusting her weight. “I would have even married a little starving Irish wretch, even though, I admit, it was the prospect of the inheritance that would have made me do so. I can’t imagine now why I spent so much time trying to charm you. You were nothing but a little foreign whore in my father’s house, and I should have simply had you instead of harboring fantasies about you for so long! Of course, I intended that you should pay for everything the night my father died. I just didn’t think that you could run so fast, disappear so well. And who in hell would have thought you could manage to marry a rich and influential man out of a New Orleans tavern! That one took some thought. I needed more than an arrest warrant for that one. I needed a wedding certificate to predate the one you were so anxious to acquire with a black-eyed, Indian-loving stranger!”

  She was glad that he kept talking. But it seemed he didn’t want any answers. He held her closely and cruelly, his fingers hard now over her mouth to keep her from biting again. He was stealing her breath away, stealing her strength. If she didn’t breathe soon …

  He eased his hold again as he balanced his way up the embankment, struggling a little with her in his arms. The instant she could talk, she did. “I’d never have married you, you bastard. And I would have preferred death at any time to your touch! I—”

  The hand clamped down again. She started to struggle.

  He fell down on one knee, trying to keep his hold on her. “Bitch!” he accused her. His fingers suddenly threaded through her hair with such force that she was gasping, unable to cry out because of the awful pain she was in. “I promise you—you’ll be touched! I’m taking you back as my wife, Tara, and when I finish with you—”

  He never completed the threat. Tara herself was startled by a savage cry that suddenly seemed to rip through the wind and the trees. She managed to twist around and saw Jarrett.

  He was coming through the trail of pines, running like lightning, his eyes a black and lethal blaze, his bronze contorted features a warning of sure death.

  Clive Carter swore, shoving her down, drawing out his pistol.

  Tara screamed.

  The shot was never fired. Jarrett was upon Clive before he could even pray to get off a shot. It seemed that Jarrett flew into the air and landed right on Carter, flattening the man beneath him. Carter instantly tried for a knife at his calf, but Jarrett wrenched him around, and the men went rolling into the river.

  They stumbled to their feet.

  Carter drew the knife and raised it over Jarrett’s head. But Jarrett caught the man’s arm. Carter bellowed out in rage; the knife dropped into the water. Jarrett eased his hold. He drew back a fist and caught Carter squarely in the jaw. Carter stumbled back in the water, falling.

  Jarrett went for the man again.

  Tara leapt up, running for the water. But before she could reach the two men, a shot sounded in the air.

  Tara spun around.

  They were surrounded.

  There was Tyler Argosy, mounted on a bay, in his military uniform, surrounded by a company of perhaps twenty men, all in uniform.

  And all armed.

  Jarrett hadn’t even heard the shot, he had been so incensed with Clive Carter. He reached into the water for the man, dragging him up.

  Tyler fired off another shot. “Jarrett!”

  Jarrett, soaked, black hair plastered to his head, holding Clive Carter out at his side by a shoulder, paused at last. But he didn’t release the man he held.

  “Jarrett!” Tara cried. “We need him—alive!” she pleaded. “Jarrett …” she said and trailed off miserably.

  “Shoot this man!” Carter demanded.

  “Mr. Carter—” Tyler began.

  “Shoot him! I have an arrest warrant for that woman, and she’s not his damned wife, she’s mine! I’m taking her back, and you can see that he’s a savage maniac, that he’s trying to kill me. Shoot him!”

  “Mr. Carter, I’m not shooting a man down in cold blood and I don’t care how many pieces of legal paper you have on you! And if you don’t shut up, Jarrett McKenzie just might strangle you and be damned with the consequences!”

  That apparently made sense to Carter. “Make him let me go!” he enunciated icily. Then he shut up.

  Tyler looked at Jarrett, pure misery in his eyes. “Jarrett, I’ve got to ask you to let him go.”

  Jarrett’s teeth clenched so tightly in his mouth, Tara thought that they would crack.

  He released Clive Carter.

  Carter started out of the water—and toward Tara. Jarrett was back behind him, thrusting him far out of the way and grasping Tara’s hand to pull her behind him.

  “My hands are off him, Tyler,” Jarrett said, still staring black fury at Carter. “Now you get him away from me.”

  “Jarrett, Tara has to come in,” Tyler said very quietly. “Damnit, Jarrett, you’re one of my best friends! Do you think I want any of this? But you’ve got to turn Tara over to me. Come along yourself—”

  “The hell with it!” Clive Carter bellowed. “He doesn’t come, I’ve got a damned wedding certificate—”

  “Mr. Carter,” Tyler said, very impatiently, “your marriage license doesn’t mean that you’ve got any right to this woman, not when it’s disputed. Your arrest warrant we’ve got to honor, but—”

  “You’re not taking her, Tyler!” Jarrett said.

  “Jarrett, don’t make me force this!” Tyler pleaded. And even as he spoke, his company of men lowered their rifles, straight upon Jarrett and Tara.

  “No!” Tara cried suddenly, trying to step around Jarrett. He tried to shove her back. “I’ll stand trial!” she cried to him. “You’ll be with me, Tyler said—”

  “Tyler,” came a cry from across the clearing, “is going to let us all ride away. Else there’s going to be one hell of a savage Indian fight out here!”

  Tara and Jarrett both spun around. Tara gasped loudly in disbelief.

  James had come. That was not so unusual—she and Jarrett had not returned from the stream.

  But he had not come alone. To Tara’s amazement he was surrounded by Seminole warriors, some on war ponies, some on foot, some painted in bright colors, some very European in plain breeches and multicolored shirts. And at the head of them, at James’s side, the Seminole currently feared more than any other.

  Osceola.

  Tara spun again. Tyler Argosy was staring at the group of warriors that had come upon them. He looked ill. Like a man who had always known his duty.

  And was about to die for it now.

  Suddenly, Osceola left the group, riding forward at a fast pace, throwing a shaft into the ground directly in front of Clive Carter.

  Carter paled.

  The shaft was decorated with white scalps.

  Osceola rode back to the line.

  Tara suddenly felt Jarrett’s hands on her shoulders. He was backing toward James and the Seminoles.<
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  “Tyler, let it go!” Jarrett warned.

  “Damn it, Jarrett, you’re going to be as much an outlaw as your wife!” Tyler warned.

  “My wife!” Clive cried. He spun on Tyler and the army men. “What the hell is the matter with you? You can’t kill these few savages?”

  “This is a damned good savage,” Jarrett said. “Asi Yaholo—Osceola. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  “Damn you!” Clive raged. “Shoot them!”

  As he spoke, the Indians cocked their guns—and aimed them at the army men.

  Tara felt weak again. They would fight for her.

  And they would die for her. Osceola, the warrior who had caused so much death and destruction! But he fought for his people, and he had never thought that all whites should die, he had judged men, far more carefully than did his enemies!

  And he had made a friend of her.

  He would die—he, and perhaps many of the men with him. And Tyler might die, and Jarrett and James, two brothers whose real fight had been to stop the violence, to keep the ties of blood and love despite it.

  They all might die because of her.

  “Wait!” she cried out, and with tremendous effort she pulled free from Jarrett’s hold and ran to stand between the two opposing forces. She turned back to Jarrett, stopping him when he was ready to run after her.

  “Jarrett, please!” she begged. “You, all of you!” She swirled in a circle, facing them all. “Please God, in the midst of all the violence here, don’t let me be responsible for more bloodshed. I beg of you all! Jarrett, Tyler will be with us. Clive will never be able to touch me again, we’ll go to Boston, we’ll fight the charges! Don’t die, please don’t die for me, any of you!”

  Silence reigned. Terrible, awful silence.

  And in that silence she was afraid. These were men who had been fighting a long time. The soldiers in blue had their honor and their pride. The warriors in their feathers and paint had been forced to run a long time, just like Tara.

  Today, they meant to fight.

  “No, please!” she shrieked out.