Whispering Hills of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 3)

by Dorothy Wiley

  If the bastard had hurt her, he would soon be a dead man.

  William clung to the belief that she would be unharmed—that he would reach her in time. But even if she was unharmed, this ordeal was the last thing Kelly needed. How far would this second trial set her back?

  McGuffin trailed behind William and his brothers, struggling to keep up with their superior mounts. His old horse couldn’t stand this pace for long, and would start slowing soon. But he wanted to be there when they caught up to Kelly. He had to be there. As her father, it was his duty to protect her and by God, he would from now on. He’d done a lousy job of it so far. He knew that now. The prospect of losing Kelly for good had woke him up. He couldn’t stand even the thought of her dying too.

  Losing her mother changed his life in ways he just now understood. Kelly looked so much like her mother, he could hardly stand to look at his daughter. She remained a constant painful reminder of his loss. He’d loved Kelly’s mother with his entire soul and when she died, his soul seemed to die too. Only one thing kept him alive at all—whiskey. It fueled his sorrow just enough to keep his soul from dying.

  Kelly was right. His life spun around in a negative cycle, again and again. Could he break the pattern? Could he become a real father again? Affection for his daughter gripped his heart. He loved Kelly, he knew that, but could he accept her as a loving father should? Could he put aside how she not only looked just like her mother, but sounded and acted like her too? Their voices were identical—soothing and infinitely compassionate. When Kelly spoke, the gentle softness in her voice only hardened his heart. The only thing he wanted to hear were words of love from his beloved wife. But death silenced her lovely voice forever.

  And Kelly’s eyes, serenely wise and beautiful, gazed back at him just like her mother used to. Their soft violet color gleamed with intelligence and a proud spirit. But in Kelly’s eyes, he also often glimpsed pity and a burning faraway look. Her generous nature pitied him. But he had provided her with only hard disappointments. He didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get far away from him. No wonder she had left.

  It made his heart clench.

  And now, he had also caught a glimpse of pain and fear in her eyes. What had happened to her at the cabin? He’d been so concerned about getting her to leave with him, that he never gave her a chance to answer his question.

  McGuffin suddenly realized that during his musing, he’d fallen even further behind. He could barely see them in the distance and as his horse slowed to a walk, they disappeared completely from view.

  His eyes clouded with visions of the past and he found himself speaking aloud to the love of his life, his head bowed. “Oh my darling, please forgive me. I’ve treated our daughter miserably. I can only pray for God’s mercy on my miserable remorseful soul. And I pray for Kelly now. That whoever took her will inflict no harm and that William and his brothers will indeed rescue her. I also pray that she will someday understand why I shunned her. Why….”

  His words trailed off when his heavy tears slipped down his cheeks and his blurred eyes cleared.

  Indians surrounded him. They were not the same natives they’d encountered earlier. These appeared to be Cherokee.

  Dear God, help me…please. Help me live to see my daughter again.

  His heart nearly stopped in his chest as their sharp eyes bored into him.

  William glanced back over his shoulder. Sam and Bear rode just behind him, their mounts maintaining his thunderous pace. But where was McGuffin? He peered down the trail and saw nothing. “What happened to Kelly’s father?” he yelled.

  “He fell further and further behind us. His mount couldn’t keep up,” Sam shouted back.

  William turned his attention back to the trail and studied it as far as he could see, fervently hoping to spot something. But as yet, he’d seen no sign of Kelly or her abductor. They could not afford to go back for Kelly’s father or slow their pace. He wouldn’t stop until he caught up to Kelly. McGuffin would just have to fend for himself.

  “Ye need to slow down a wee bit, man,” Bear yelled. “Let the horses rest. They’re tiring and we willna catch the lass if we kill them.”

  “No!” William called back. “She’s just ahead. I can feel her.”

  And his instinct proved true. There they were.

  McGuffin’s stomach knotted with fear. He struggled not to let his panic show. His pulse beat erratically as a quick and disturbing thought entered his head. If he died now, he would never have a chance to ask Kelly’s forgiveness or to be the father he could be. The misgivings shattered his heart. He wanted to cry. Not from fear. From regret.

  One of the Indians moved out in front of the others. A large man, he carried a Kentucky rifle and a knife hung from his neck in a beaded sheath. A straight red pin about four inches across pierced his nose and numerous earrings hung from both ears. His polished shaved head gleamed in the morning light under a cluster of bright feathers perched on the top of his head. The native’s manner, cool and aloof, chilled his blood as the Indian moved his horse closer.

  As a trapper in Virginia, he often traded with natives for his safety. But here in Kentucky, the Indians didn’t know him and they were far more unpredictable. Paralyzing apprehension coursed through him as he remembered the horrifying stories about what happened to some white men on this trail. All these natives would leave would be his mutilated smoldering body.

  McGuffin felt impaled by the brave’s penetrating steady gaze.

  A painful silence loomed between them.

  If only he knew sign language, like Sam. Terror made his chest tighten as he tried to speak. “I…I…am here in peace,” he began. With his weapons stolen, he had to be.

  At his words, the one in front held up his hand, silencing him. He felt as if that hand had closed around his throat. The air grew tight with tension and his escalating terror.

  The contemptuous look in the leader’s eyes told him the Indian knew of his fear. Then the brave’s eyes hardened and something disturbing replaced his smoldering look. He gestured to two of the other natives. They dismounted and yanked him from his lathered mount, their grips around his arms tight and forceful. The horse trotted off as the two pushed him toward a nearby tree that stood off by itself. The strong scent of the braves burned the inside of his nose and throat.

  But that was the least of his worries.

  He breathed in shallow, rapid gasps, certain he was about to die, as the two braves tied first his hands behind him and then his chest and feet to the tree with rawhide. Panic rioted through him, making him tremble. He stood there, knees shaking, powerless to stop this. What could he do? What could he say? They wouldn’t understand him even if he could come up with something to tell them. Never had he felt so helpless, so alone.

  The large group of Cherokee, at least twenty in number, all dismounted and began yelping.

  Their shrill primitive yaps stabbed at his heart, each chilling cry more horrifying than the last. The sound was so dreadful, so alarming, he almost wished they would kill him and be done with it. They seemed to be celebrating. Why? Oh dear God, they were reveling his impending death. Horror gripped him, stronger than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch them any longer.

  “Little Turkey, First Beloved Man of the Cherokee,” a man bellowed.

  McGuffin opened his eyes and turned toward the deep voice.

  The magnificently dressed older man, with thick snowy white hair, astride his tall horse, held himself with an air of distinction and pride. He rode right into the group of natives. Was the man daft? They would kill him too.

  “Why do the Chickamauga Cherokee tie this man?” the man asked the native’s leader, at the same time translating in sign language.

  McGuffin thought he detected a note of censure in the man’s voice and eyes. Whoever he was, he had guts or he was just plain crazy.

  The native, who must be Little Turkey, spoke up, answering in a clipped voice.

  McGuffin
recognized only one word. Boone. Could this be Daniel Boone?

  “Beloved Man of the Cherokee, you know that killing this man would be an unwise violation of our treaty. He is but one man. Is killing him worth risking raising the anger of all the whites?” His voice was calm, his hands unwaveringly steady as he signed the words.

  Little Turkey’s lips puckered with what seemed like annoyance.

  The white-haired man turned to McGuffin. “Sir who are you and what are you doing here?” His tone was deadly serious.

  “My companions and I are desperately trying to reach my daughter Kelly who was abducted last night. Sheriff Wyllie and his two brothers are in pursuit of her captor now. I fell behind because my horse is old,” McGuffin explained rapidly, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. “Please help me. I believe they intend to kill me.”

  “Indeed they do, Sir. You were mere minutes from having your scalp and manhood lifted. I know what it is like to have a daughter abducted. A Cherokee-Shawnee raiding party captured my daughter Jemima and her friends, the Callaway girls, but we succeeded in rescuing them. I will do my best to help you. But say nothing and at least try to appear brave. A white man’s fear is incendiary to the native man.”

  The Colonel dismounted and approached Little Turkey and then seemed to explain what McGuffin had just told Boone. Little Turkey’s dark eyes widened as Boone spoke. Then for a moment, the Indian leader looked over at him quizzically. Would the brave believe Boone?

  McGuffin could tell that these Indians held a high opinion of the Colonel by the way they regarded the aging frontier fighter and Kentucky hero. Boone first entered Kentucky about three decades ago. It was common knowledge that in that time, he’d earned the respect of not just the early pioneers, but the natives as well. He couldn’t believe his good fortune that Boone had come along when he did. Perhaps God had heard his prayer and sent Boone to his rescue.

  To his astonishment, Little Turkey motioned for the other Indians to mount up, then the brave grasped Boone’s arm and held it for a few seconds before releasing it and smoothly swinging up onto his own horse.

  After the Indians left, Boone turned to him and plucked his knife from its leather sheath. “God must have some reason to let you live, Sir. If I hadn’t come along when I did, you would now be turning to ash.”

  As soon as the ropes fell away, McGuffin sank to his knees, unable to stand, his throat still feeling choked. “Thank you, Sir, for your timely assistance,” he managed to croak. “Do I have the honor of addressing Daniel Boone?”

  “I am Colonel Boone.”

  “I thought as much. Only you could command that much respect from the natives with no more than your presence.”

  “That respect took an exceedingly long time to earn,” Boone replied, with a deep sigh.

  “Colonel, I must get going. My daughter needs me. I believe that is why God allowed me live.” He tried to stand, but his legs were still unsteady.

  “Your mount has had a chance to rest. He’s over yonder grazing,” Boone said pointing about a hundred yards away. “Have a rest yourself while I retrieve him.”

  When Boone returned with his horse, McGuffin took a few deeps breaths and then managed to stand again. Anxious to be on his way, he said, “I must get going, but I thank you again for your timely assistance. How can I ever repay you?”

  “You said your daughter’s name was Kelly.” Recognition shown in Boone’s eyes. “I met her, at Sheriff Wyllie’s swearing in ceremony.”

  “My apologies. My name is Rory McGuffin. Yes, Kelly is my only child.”

  “At his swearing in ceremony, William seemed quite taken with your daughter. I could see it in the way he looked at her. And if my old eyes didn’t fail me, I’m sure I noticed a fondness for William in those bright eyes of hers too.”

  Boone seemed to think for a moment. “My dear wife Rebecca is always warning me not to interfere in the personal affairs of others, but I find that sometimes frontier love needs a bit of encouragement,” he said with a laugh. “And I can never resist an opportunity to play the match maker.”

  McGuffin was surprised to hear this battle-hardened soldier express a softer side.

  “You can repay me by encouraging your daughter to marry William. He’s one of the finest young men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and he has already proven his bravery and integrity to the people of Boonesborough. Judge Webb and Colonel Byrd both speak extremely highly of him and his family. Before I left, for his service to the citizens of Boonesborough, I gave William the deed to my old cabin. It has fresh water, a nice orchard, and a smokehouse. So he’ll have a comfortable home for your daughter. I don’t know much about her, but she’s a lovely young woman and William would be lucky to have her.”

  McGuffin stared, amazed that this man’s insight recognized all that and that he had missed it all. Whiskey must have dulled his mind. But Boone’s perceptions rang true to him. William was clearly taken with Kelly, his concern for her amply evident. The Colonel was right. The two seemed meant for each other. “Sir, you have my word, I will not interfere if William should ask her to marry him.”

  “No, I want your word that not only will you not interfere, you will encourage your daughter to consider William favorably,” Boone retorted.

  McGuffin had to admire Boone’s negotiating acumen. “I’ll agree, but why do you care so much?”

  “For two reasons. First, Sir, because young people like them are Boonesborough’s only hope. I have a large number of friends and family resting eternally on the other side of the sod. All of them sacrificed for Kentucky. Both my mind and my heart want to be certain Kentucky has a bright future. Without brave men like William, and spirited women like Kelly, Boonesborough will vanish like mist in the morning, and the fort will become only a perch for the owl and a hiding place for the fox.”

  McGuffin’s mouth hung open at the simple eloquence in Boone’s words. He could see now how the natural leader had inspired men by the thousands to answer the call of destiny and migrate to Kentucky.

  “In addition,” Boone continued, “it has been my own personal experience, and I have observed in others, that behind every successful man is a woman who inspired and buoyed that success through her own strengths and capabilities. Men often underestimate the impact a woman can have on a man’s life. My impression of Kelly is that she is a woman who will inspire William to greatness here in Kentucky.”

  “She is indeed,” he said proudly. “You have my word, Sir. I was quite impressed with William myself.” In truth he was. He just had not let William know it. They had gotten off on the wrong foot. In fact, he had to admit he’d acted like an ass to William and his brothers.

  “Good, then we are in agreement,” Boone stated with finality.

  “Are you headed north? If so, I surely hope you will join me. I’d hate to run into Indians again without you.”

  “Indeed I am. I have business in Lexington,” Boone replied. “Then I am headed home, to the mouth of the Little Sandy River in northeastern Kentucky. Although I suspect Providence may soon call me elsewhere.”

  With that, they both mounted and urged their horses to a fast trot.

  Thank you, Lord. Now just let William reach her in time.

  CHAPTER 11

  William urged his stallion to run with all that was left in the weary animal. He needed to reach Kelly. He could see her slumped over Ginger’s neck, her head bobbing and hair flopping with each step the mare took. Was she hurt? Dear God, please no.

  He searched his mind for an explanation. Who was that tall man who led her mare? She sure as hell better be all right or he would be a tall corpse in mere minutes. He swallowed hard, trying to hold his raw emotions in check.

  He would be there in seconds.

  As Smoke drew close, he saw the man gawk back toward him with first surprise and then alarm. The fellow seemed to hesitate for a moment or two and then dropped the reins to Kelly’s horse, before spurring his sizable stallion to a full bounding run.<
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  Confused, Ginger started to run after the stallion. William could see Kelly’s body beginning to slip to the mare’s left side, just seconds away from being tangled in the horse’s galloping legs.

  “Oh God, no!”

  Swiftly closing the short gap between them, William pulled alongside the frightened mare’s right side and reached down for the bridle with one hand, while trying to support Kelly’s drooping body with his other hand. He couldn’t let her slip further. “Whoa girl, whoa. I’ve got you now. Whoa.”

  Ginger and Smoke both slowed and then finally came to a full stop. William stepped off his stallion and grabbed Kelly, supporting her limp body in his shaking arms. “Kelly. Kelly. My God, what has he done to you?” Worry and fear crowded his mind. “I’m here Kelly. I’m here for you.”

  Seconds later, Sam and Bear tugged their mounts to an abrupt halt beside him and instantly dismounted.

  “She won’t wake up,” he told them, feeling a wave of panic sweep through him.

  “Let’s get her off her horse,” Sam said.

  Bear held the horses and Sam held Kelly, while William untied the ropes binding her to the mare. He couldn’t believe this was the second time he’d had to remove ropes from her wrists and ankles. As before, her skin was an angry red and raw in places.

  As he gently lowered her to the ground, he swore he would use these very same ropes on the man who had tied them on Kelly.

  Both of his brothers knelt next to Kelly, examining her. “No head wounds,” Sam said.

  “It appears she has na broken bones,” Bear stated.

  “Thank God for that at least,” William said, “but why doesn’t she wake?” His heart thumped madly as he held her hand in his.

  “Let me smell her breath,” Bear urged and nudged Sam aside. “Drugged. The poor wee thing has been drugged.”

  Sam smelled her breath as well. “I agree,” he said. “Opium. Her breath has the sickly sweet smell of the poppy flower. During the war, surgeons gave it to those with the worst injuries. If the bugger didn’t overdose her, she’ll come around eventually.”