by Pam Hillman
Either way, the woman he loved would be lost to him.
Love?
Quinn’s assumption punched him in the gut, and in that instant, Caleb’s heart exploded with a feeling so big, so all-encompassing, so overwhelming that he thought he’d shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. He finally understood what his brother had been talking about.
He loved Alanah Adams. With all his being.
And it had taken losing her to a madman to pull back the fog so he could see.
Pain clutched his chest as if he’d been running full speed and lost every wisp of breath in his lungs. Nostrils flaring, he sucked in a deep, life-giving breath, gritted his teeth, and pressed hard against the tree trunk, feeling the grind of the rough bark against the back of his head.
No, he could not —would not —accept that she was gone.
He shoved the fear, the worry, the very thought of losing her forever, deep down inside and covered all those weak emotions with anger, sheer force of will, and determination to find her, no matter what it took.
A faint sliver of light spilled over the horizon to the east and the sky faded from black to the first blue of dawn. Jaw clenched, he stood and melted into the forest. He’d search every inch of this island until he found her.
And if that murderous dog had violated her, Caleb would make him pay with his life.
“Lord, please . . .”
As dawn broke, Alanah peered toward the river, trying to see who was manning the sweeps on the rafts. All she needed was to recognize one man.
The mist made it hard to distinguish their features, but one of the men lifted his face toward the island and stared. Was that Quinn on the timber raft? And . . . yes, Tiberius on one of the flatboats. His tall, broad-shouldered form was hard to miss.
Thank You, Jesus.
Her heart leapt with joy. God had given the loggers victory over the river pirates.
She wanted to believe that Lydia and Betsy were on one of those rafts, that Lydia had reached help. Surely Tiberius wouldn’t leave Lydia. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. He would if they hadn’t made it to the raft, because the men didn’t even know she and Lydia had followed them.
What if their sole purpose for attacking and defeating the river pirates was to open the waterway for safe transport of the logs and the crops gleaned from the plantations?
No, Caleb had promised he’d find Betsy.
He’d promised.
But the evidence was before her. The loggers were leaving. She continued to search the rafts, the forms growing smaller and smaller. At this distance, she wouldn’t recognize Caleb. Had he left Betsy to her fate? Had he left her to hers?
Even as she berated herself for doubting, she couldn’t help but worry. She’d depended on no one but herself for so long it was hard to accept Caleb would keep his word. The very thought that he might have abandoned them hurt worse than anything. Worse than her parents’ and Aunt Rachel’s deaths. Worse than Uncle Jude’s disapproval and renunciation of Betsy’s plight.
Her parents and Aunt Rachel hadn’t wanted to die, but it was their time, and they couldn’t be faulted for leaving this earth. From an early age, she’d stood in awe of Uncle Jude and his steadfast determination to live a spotless, blameless life. His disdain for those who failed to live up to his expectations.
She remembered her father’s gentle admonition that they should love the unlovable, and Uncle Jude arguing that the unlovable needed to face the wrath of God. And after her father had died in Natchez Under-the-Hill, her uncle refused to set one foot in the den of iniquity and forbade her to go as well. But God forgive her, she’d disobeyed him more than once, not because she wanted to defy his authority, but because —
A rustling sounded off to her right. She shrank back against a pine, her patched dress blending with the rough bark at her back.
A deer feeding at dawn? Or Micaiah?
Willing her pounding heart to slow, she nocked an arrow, then remained motionless. Through the trees, she caught a glimpse of something moving stealthily along a game trail. Too tall to be a deer or any other four-legged animal, the figure could only be human.
If it was Micaiah or one of the river pirates . . .
Alanah eased from her hiding place, being careful not to make a sound. She inched along and then crouched behind an embankment. Hidden from view, she ran a hundred yards, searching for concealment that gave her a view of where her prey would emerge.
Prey?
She slid into position behind a large oak. When had she started to think of the man she stalked as prey? The only prey she’d ever killed had been animals for food and hides for her use.
But if Betsy was still on the island, she had to protect her sister. Could she kill a man to save her life? Or Betsy’s? If attacked, she could defend herself, surely, but —
Eyes darting back and forth, she scanned the area and saw nothing. Had her quarry led her into a trap?
Where was he?
Chapter 28
CALEB STEPPED into the open.
As soon as he saw the arrow pointed at his chest, the terror in Alanah’s wide and frightened eyes, he regretted his decision to show himself. He should have called out to her first.
Slowly the bowstring became lax, and the bow lowered. Her lips trembled.
“Caleb.”
And then she dropped the bow and ran toward him. She threw her arms around his neck, and he caught her in a tight embrace.
“Shh, lass.” He backed into a thicket, the feel of her safe and sound in his arms warring against the threat of a killer stalking them both.
“I was afraid you’d left with the others.”
“I would no’ leave ya, lass.” Caleb held her away from him, cradling her face in his palms. “What are you doing here? You and Lydia are supposed t’ be on your way t’ Breeze Hill.”
“I couldn’t leave Betsy.” She shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Unable to stop himself, he lowered his mouth to hers, covering her trembling lips with his, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her mouth. It was a heady combination, and he groaned, swept her closer, and deepened the kiss.
Her kiss washed away his fear of having lost her, and all he could think about was that he’d found her, he had her in his arms, and nothing and nobody was going to take her away from him ever again.
She pushed away, worry clouding her gaze. “I saw the timber raft and the flatboats leaving. Betsy? And Lydia?”
“Safe and sound. The loggers were going t’ cross the river and head back t’ camp.”
Her sigh of relief was palpable, and she wilted against him again. “Thank You, Lord.”
They stood like that, him holding her close, just breathing. Just living.
Finally she whispered, “Micaiah got away. Like the coward he is, he left his men to die.”
“Aye. Lydia told me.”
They stepped from the safety of the thicket, and Alanah retrieved her bow. As she slung it over her back, she lifted her gaze to his, looking troubled. “I don’t know if I could’ve killed him.”
“Micaiah?”
“Yes. I’ve —I’ve never used my bow on a human being.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I could.”
“Sometimes you’re no’ given a choice.” He held out a hand, and without hesitation, she took it. “Come on, let’s get off this island.”
“What about Micaiah?”
“I have a feeling he’s gone already. And if he hasn’t, he’s watching the flatboats beached on the sandbar. He knows we’ll need one o’ those t’ cross the river.” Caleb frowned. There was no guarantee they’d be able to get to the boats without being spotted.
“I have a better idea.” Alanah turned and led him in the opposite direction, away from the sands where the flatboats were.
He pulled her to a halt. “Where are we going?”
She gave him a saucy look. “You want to get off the island, do you not?”
“Aye, but —”
“Then we shall. Let’s go.”
Alanah skirted around the outlaw camp and led the way toward the opposite side of the island. She ducked into the thick underbrush and slid down an embankment. Caleb followed, trusting that she knew what she was doing.
And there, hidden beneath the overhanging branches of a weeping willow, lay a small raft.
She grinned. “Impressed?”
“Aye.”
He didn’t have to ask where it had come from or how she knew it was here. For the space of a heartbeat, he considered waiting until nightfall to cross the river, but the idea of lying in wait until Micaiah found them wasn’t appealing. They’d take their chances on the river.
Alanah boarded. Caleb untied the ropes and used a pole to push the small craft into the current. “Keep a sharp eye out. We’re easy pickings out here.”
Within minutes, they cleared the channel and floated free into the immense river. But Caleb didn’t feel at ease until they were well out of range of a musket ball.
Even then, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring a hole in his back.
The trip across the river was uneventful.
“There’s a good place to make land just around the next bend.” Alanah manned one of the sweeps, nodding toward the shore. “We need to get closer.”
Caleb dipped his oar into the water. “And how would you be knowin’ that? You’ve traveled the river quite a bit, have you?”
“Not recently. But Lydia and I foraged on Cottonmouth Island, before Micaiah and his gang of outlaws started using it to waylay unsuspecting travelers.”
“You weren’t afraid o’ the cottonmouths?”
“Not as much as the two-legged ones who came after.” She shrugged. “Besides, there weren’t that many snakes on the island. No more than anywhere else around here.”
The sandbar came into view and Alanah was relieved to see two flatboats bobbing in the shallows, tied up to a sturdy tree. She’d hoped the loggers had made landfall here. Lydia, for one, knew about the spot even if none of the others did. She pointed. “There.”
They slid their raft in next to the larger boats and tied it off. From the looks of the landing and the beaten path leading away from the bank, it was obvious travelers from both sides of the river used the sandbar quite often. They left the rafts where they lay. Someone would probably come along and take them, but that was the way of the river.
There was plenty of evidence that Tiberius and the loggers had come this way. They’d cut poles to make litters to haul the wounded, and they made no effort to hide their trail.
Caleb started down the trail. “It shouldn’t take us long t’ overtake them, not with them carrying the wounded.”
Even as tired as she was, Alanah didn’t mind the pace Caleb set. Every so often, he glanced back, making sure she was keeping up, and when they came to an embankment, he braced himself, held out a hand, and handed her down to even ground. While she didn’t need assistance, it was nice to know that he wanted to take care of her.
They’d traveled less than half the distance when they heard the shuffling of feet along the forest floor, the grunts and groans of the injured, and the murmur of voices.
Caleb stopped, held up a hand for her to keep quiet before giving a series of calls that didn’t sound like any bird she’d ever heard. Instantly the noise up ahead ceased. Presently the same calls floated back to them. Caleb nodded and motioned her forward. “Go on, lass. Tiberius is expecting us.”
Pushing past him, she barreled along the trail, rounded a bend, and spotted Lydia standing there, arms around Betsy. An explosion of joy burst inside her, and she ran forward, throwing her arms around her sister. Her gaze met Lydia’s, and she reached out, took her hand, and squeezed. She didn’t ask if Betsy was all right. Just seeing her clutching a handful of wildflowers, safe and alive, was enough for now.
She linked an arm through Betsy’s, and they fell into step behind the loggers carrying the litters. Half the burly men stood by the wayside, letting them pass, before falling in behind to bring up the rear, putting Betsy, Lydia, and herself in the middle of the party.
Keeping them safe.
The trek upriver was slow and tedious as the men took turns carrying the injured. When they drew near home, Alanah caught Lydia’s attention and shook her head. Better not to mention home at all. Hopefully, Betsy wouldn’t think of the kits or the goats, and they could avoid an outburst. There would be time enough to round up the animals later.
Everyone had grown silent except for the occasional groan from the injured. They crossed the road and one by one hoisted the litters up an embankment. Suddenly one of the loggers lost his footing on the uneven ground. As he fell, the litter tipped sideways. Shouting and cursing, the loggers grabbed for the litter, but it was too late. The injured man slammed into a tree. Screaming in agony, he curled into a ball.
Lydia rushed to his side, Alanah close behind. Gently they rolled him to his back. His face was wreathed in sweat and his jaw clenched as he fought against the pain. Someone handed Alanah a moistened cloth, and she blotted his face while Lydia checked his bandages.
The logger batted her hands away and jutted out his chin. “Put me back on the litter.” Then he glared at the man who’d dropped him. “And, Corrigan, if ya drop me again, so help me, I’m going to bust your noggin, ya ken?”
Twisting his hat in his hands, Corrigan nodded. “And I’ll let ya do it, too.”
Lydia pressed him down. “I don’t think —”
“Load me up, and let’s be on our way.”
The men looked to Lydia for permission. “Do as he says.”
After securing the man on the litter, the men eased up the incline, being more careful this time.
“What happened to that man?”
Startled, Alanah glanced at Betsy. They were the first words her sister had spoken all day. She weighed her answer, erring on the side of caution. The less said about the river pirates, and Micaiah specifically, the better. “He was stabbed.”
“Finley stabbed Uncle Jude.”
“Why would you say that? Uncle Jude left days ago to collect supplies.”
“No.” Betsy’s lips flattened into a firm line. “Finley stabbed him. I was there.”
Caleb’s gaze met Alanah’s; then he bent so that he could look into Betsy’s eyes. “When did this happen?”
“I —” Betsy looked away, shifting closer to Alanah. “I don’t remember.”
“It’s all right, Betsy.” Alanah put her arm around her sister. “You can tell us. When did Finley stab Uncle Jude?”
“Finley grabbed me by the hair, and he was hurting me, and Uncle Jude tried to stop him. Then they —” She stopped, a frown on her face. “Alanah, where are the babies? Uncle Jude was going home with me to milk the goats and feed the babies. But Finley . . .”
She trailed off, turned, and followed meekly along behind the convoy. Caleb fell into step beside Alanah, his attention on the troubled girl shuffling along in front of them.
“Do you think there’s some truth t’ what she says?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she prone t’ weaving tall tales?”
“No. She says very little, but what she does say is usually truth. And Finley was the man I saw dragging her through the woods.” Alanah reached for him, her nails digging into his forearm. “Do you suppose it really happened? That Uncle Jude came upon them and they —they killed him?”
“There’s only one way t’ know for sure.” Caleb pulled her out of the procession, motioning to Tiberius and Lydia to stop. Quickly he told them what Betsy had said. “I’m going t’ scout around between the logging camp and Alanah’s home place. If Jude was there when Finley took Betsy, he might still be alive.”
“I’m going with you.” Alanah’s voice was firm.
“No —”
“You can’t stop me. This is my uncle we’re talking about.” She left the trail and dove into the woods.
Tossing Tiberius and Lydia a glance, Caleb took off after her, grabbed her arm, and spun her around. “I do no’ know what I’ll find, lass.”
Face pale, eyes large, she nodded. “I know, but if he’s alive, you’ll need me.”
“You faint at the sight o’ blood.”
She blanched but lifted her chin. “If —if I do, just throw a bucket of water on me.”
He searched her gaze, then nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
Alanah wove a zigzag path through the woods, and ten minutes later, they came to the spot where they’d seen the cutthroats hauling Betsy away.
She pointed northward. “They came from that way.”
Caleb followed the direction of her outstretched arm. “A fairly straight shot t’ the logging camp, aye?”
“And it makes sense because I was pretty sure Betsy was headed home that morning, and she said as much to me when she said Uncle Jude was here with her.”
“Or she’d already been home and was heading back t’ the logging camp.”
“No.” A frown pulled Alanah’s brows together as she put the pieces together. “She wouldn’t have left the kits behind.”
They split up and began sweeping the area back toward the logging camp. They’d gone half a mile not seeing anything, when Alanah rushed forward. “Caleb, look.”
He hurried toward her. “What is it?”
She fingered a ripped piece of cloth caught on a tangle of thorns. “This could be a piece of Uncle Jude’s shirt.”
“Aye. Or anybody’s for that matter.”
Caleb scrutinized the ground, searching for something that might tell him if anything of import had happened here. He stepped to the side of the path, looked down a steep embankment. The broken tangle of vines and briars looked as if something had slid or rolled down the incline. He stair-stepped down the embankment.
What he saw chilled his blood.
Alanah joined him, stared at the strands of bloodstained gray hair caught on the bark of a tree. “Uncle Jude,” she whispered. “He was here.”