Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  “If it is south, then we ride north,” Scarblade said suddenly. “I had a feeling they would change the route. Persuade him, Josh, gently that is, for the truth.”

  “’Tis the truth,” Josh roared. “A smashed nose and a few missing teeth were all it took to convince him. We ride south. It’ll still be only an hour’s ride. ’Tis an uphill grade and the wagons will be heavy.”

  “Change horses with these men; ours are worn and we have many more hours of travel.” Scarblade’s voice boomed, and the small band of men hurried to obey their leader.

  Josh shook his head and patted his sorrel lovingly and said the horse could ride for days. He would never leave her behind. “’Tis the only thing I’ve left,” he stated simply.

  In the confusion of leading the string of horses to be changed no one noticed Tori as she struggled, her left arm hanging limply as she tried to mount the beast assigned her. She gritted her teeth and gave a great lunge and sat slumped over, breathing heavily, eyes glazed with pain.

  Tori had followed Marcus’s plan to the letter. She had trudged through the snow toward the guards’ encampment, brazenly allowing the twigs and roots which lay beneath the snow to crack under her weight. Marcus had instructed her not to come upon the King’s men suddenly—she was to give them some warning of her approach. But Marcus had not known the condition of the guards. He could not have known that they were frozen with the cold and starved from lack of provisions and frightened for their lives, owing to their solemn responsibility for the tax shipment.

  Tori hadn’t even heard the report of the pistol. She was only aware of the young, half-starved, terror-stricken face of the guardsman, who in his panic, had shot blindly into the brush. When the small platoon of soldiers came to their senses they flushed the underbrush and found Tori. Roughly, they pulled her to her feet and dragged her close to the fire, where they forced her to sit. They began an interrogation and were waiting for her answer when Marcus and his men broke into their camp.

  Carefully, she placed her hand inside the worn blanket she used as a cape, and it came away red and sticky, as she had known it would. She felt faintly sick and a little dizzy. Again she gritted her teeth, thinking, hoping, it was only a flesh wound.

  Again the small band rode into the driving snow. Tori felt her arm going numb and gratefully admitted the absence of all feeling was better than the pain.

  The string of horses plodded onward. From time to time the snow would let up and one rider would be able to see the rider in front of him. Then the swirling snow would come faster, blinding the men and the lone girl. The cold crept into their bones, locking their joints as they sat huddled on the slow-moving horses.

  Tori sat her beast and suffered moments when she had to fight mightily to keep from slipping to the ground. She swayed dizzily as a violent gust of wind almost knocked her from the horse. Her breath seemed to freeze in the very air. The horse halted, and she sat silently and waited, cold and frozen, praying no one would ask her to dismount.

  Josh sat slumped in the saddle. Marcus slid from his horse and plowed through the knee-deep snow. “What is it, Josh?”

  “The wagons are ahead of us, at a dead stop. See the ruts? Methinks one of the wagons has a broken hub. I’ve been watching the tracks and I can see the way it weaves. The only thing I’m not sure of is which wagon it is; if it’s the middle one then it will be all right. ’Tis hard to tell, but I know from the way their tracks freshen that they’re at a standstill.”

  Marcus, eyes narrowed in the driving snow, said, “Then we’ll have to go on foot.”

  “I don’t know, Marc; I’m frozen fair. If it comes to a fight the men will be no better than I. We may come out second best,” Josh murmured.

  “Aye, Josh, but on the other hand, those men are just as cold as we are. Their arms will bend just as uselessly as ours. We’ll do the best we can; we’ll creep up and take the last wagon and work from there. Silence is the keyword. Let the girl stay on her horse.”

  The men trudged in a tight group to the stalled wagons. Scarblade waved his arm to the men as a signal to follow, then drew his pistol. “We have surprise on our side; by now they are no doubt sure that there will be no trouble. Easy now.”

  For a man of his height and bulk he crept with phenomenal grace through the deep snow. The men followed in his tracks.

  “Look, Josh,” Scarblade whispered. “The canvas canopy is frozen over. They can’t see outside. Just pray that the hatch at the rear is not frozen shut. That will give us the most trouble. If it is, then I’ll have to shoot off the latch. You’d better be there with drawn pistols and,” he added ominously, “be prepared to use them if necessary.”

  The men crouched low in the deep snow and advanced slowly to the wagons. Josh, in the lead, was the first to approach the door. Crouched low, he peered at the latch. He bent closer; the ice was encrusted over the whole frame. Cautiously, he tried the handle: it didn’t move. He crouched silently and thought for a moment. There was no sound from the coach. He held one large hand up in warning and suddenly gave the lock a vicious crack and at the same time grasped the handle. The King’s men inside, sitting near frozen all in a huddle in a vain attempt to keep warm, were taken by surprise.

  Josh had the pistol aimed at the men in a second. There was no time for the men to try for their own pistols.

  Marcus, entering the coach behind Josh, dragged the men from their positions and shoved them into the snow toward Charles and the men.

  “Bind them well, but leave enough slack so they can free themselves later. Quietly now,” he whispered. “A sound from you and you’ll get a bullet for your reward.” The men looked with glazed eyes into the cold, hostile ones of the man with the blazing scar on his cheek.

  One of the King’s guards was heard to gasp in fear, “Scarblade!”

  Once the guard was bound and securely locked within the coach, Scarblade’s men advanced on the next coach. It lurched in a sickly way to the side. It was the one with the first wagon. The guards were in a near stupor. They offered no resistance. “They’ll be dead in another few hours,” Josh cautioned to the men. “So will the others. You cannot last in this bitter cold with nothing to warm your bones. Tying them will make no difference. There’s no fight in any of them. There’s nothing we can do for them. They have taken an oath to stay with the convoy and cannot leave; either way is death to them. Otherwise they would have untied the team and tried to make it to shelter on their own.

  “Once the monies are gone from the coaches they can then safely untie the team and leave if they want. But,” he admonished, “they have neither the strength nor the will to do it. They will lie there and die. ’Tis not our fault, Scarblade.”

  The third wagon held only three men, all dead. They advanced to the first and Josh drew his pistol and shot off the lock. The door swung drunkenly and he looked inside. The men lay on top of each other for warmth, their bodies covered with the fine snow that had seeped in around the canvas hood. Marcus prodded a still form on top. It rolled to the side and lay still. “He’s dead. So are the others,” he said as he nudged each in turn. “’Tis a sad business. They gave their lives for the Crown. You have to admire them for that.”

  “Try telling that to their families when their bellies are empty,” Josh almost snarled. “What will the Crown do for them then? They’ll starve just like your colonists!”

  “Charles,” Marcus called suddenly, “untie the men from the first carriage and offer them the use of the horses. We have to do that much for them. If they reach the authorities the game will be up. But I think they will choose to stay and die. The disgrace alone would make the rest of their lives a living hell.”

  “All right, Scarblade,” Josh spoke. “What is it we do now? How do we transport the monies to the ship?”

  “We have to use the first wagon, we could never get the others free of the snow. With a mighty effort this one may be pulled free. I’ll drive it with Ned. The rest of you will have to load your saddlebags
and carry what you can on horseback. We take as much as we can. The rest we have to leave behind.

  “I think the bulk of it may be fitted into the wagon. They only used the four wagons for protection, not so much for the weight. Let’s see to it,” Scarblade called. “The faster we work, the warmer we’ll get. Soon we’ll be sweating and then we can be on our way.” Suddenly he looked upward. “The snow is letting up! Look!”

  “Right you are, lad,” Josh laughed. “’Twill be easier if we can see what we are about. Let’s go, lads. What do you think?” he asked, looking at Marcus. “Should we take the pouches out of the casks? ’Twill make a lighter load, and we have to use the pouches when we ride the horses.”

  “The lighter the load the better. Pray, Josh, that we make it. This snow is mighty deep and the horses are cold and tired.”

  “Aye, lad. We all best pray,” Josh said soberly. “And while you see to it, I want to check the girl,” he added as he turned the huge sorrel around. He looked with pity at the near frozen girl in the saddle. “We’ll be moving again, lass. Do you think you can make it?”

  Tori nodded wearily. She had to fight to open her eyes. “It’s stopped snowing!” she said in amazement. “Were you successful, Josh? How did it go?” she asked anxiously.

  “The men in the wagons are all dead or near dead.”

  “Then why is it we’re still alive, Josh? We’ve been riding as many hours as the coaches.”

  “Ye be wrong, lass. The convoy must have started last night sometime to have gotten this far. Don’t forget we did not start out till midmorning this day. Must have been all the praying I did,” Josh joked.

  Tori, unable to make her mouth move, just nodded. God, she was so cold, so tired, and so very hungry.

  Josh looked with concern at the weary girl in the saddle. “We will stop at the first station we come to. There will be one in a short ride. Do ye think ye can last, lass?”

  Tori forced her jaw muscles to work and said through clenched teeth, “I’ll be all right, Josh. Shall I move up to the coaches?”

  “Move the horse, lass, and shake your arms to keep the blood moving.”

  Tori almost laughed aloud. Move her arms! The wound must have started to bleed again; she could feel a warm stickiness inside her sleeve. “Yes,” she murmured, “I’ll move my arms. Gently she prodded the horse and sat numbly and cold in the saddle as the huge beast plowed through the high snow. Once by the wagons, she reined in the animal and sat watching as the men loaded the casks into the lead wagons.

  Tori looked at the high snow and then at Marcus Chancelor. Feeling the girl’s eyes on him, he looked up, his arms full, and almost faltered at her appearance. She looked near death’s door.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concern on his face. “I wish there was room in the wagon for you, but the casks will be stacked to the very top.”

  Tori heaved a sigh. She could never have dismounted. She clenched her teeth and made a tight fist with her hand. Please God, she murmured silently, just help me. Let me get through the next hour and then you can let me die.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “There be the inn, lads,” Josh called. “We made it,” he cried happily.

  Marcus reined in the team and climbed down. “Let us settle in the inn before I make my way to the ship. I must warm my bones and get some food in my belly or I won’t be going anywhere. We best watch our words now and be careful,” Marcus admonished the men. “Bring the saddlebags into the inn and the men can have their share before I leave.”

  Tori sat rigid while the men dismounted. She knew she could not do it on her own. She felt strong arms lift her free of the saddle. Josh held her gently but, even so, the grip he had on her arm almost made her cry out. The color drained from her face. She swayed and would have fallen except for his hold.

  “’Twill be all right, lass. Just a few more minutes and ye’ll be warm and cozy. And all the food you want. Lean on me, lass.” The big man half carried her, half dragged her into the warmth of the inn.

  Tori looked around as the heat struck her like a blow. The huge room was empty except for a burly man. He watched silently and suspiciously as Josh led the girl to the fire and laid her down gently. “Soon ye’ll be warm,” he said with a smile. “I have to help the men now. Rest.”

  Rest! With this throbbing arm? The pain was starting up again. She looked up and saw the innkeeper. There was something wrong with him. Narrowing her eyes, she saw he had a pistol ready. Seeing his intent, horror gripped her. God in heaven, to have come so far to have a miserable innkeeper ruin it all! Pulling herself to a sitting position, she knocked her shoulder against the fire tongs.

  “You can do it, you can do whatever you must!” Who had said that to her? Granger? He was always telling her she could do the impossible things he outlined for her. All right, Granger. I’ll do it! she thought as she gritted her teeth. The innkeeper, his eyes on the open doorway, paid the girl no heed. Tori clutched the heavy instrument in her good hand and tried to get to her feet. She managed to get herself up, but her head was spinning.

  From where she stood she had a clear view of the door. She knew that the first person through it would get a bullet in his heart. She hefted the tongs with her good arm and mentally weighed her chances and those of the person entering the room. She drew her eyes from the door to the innkeeper, then back to the door, and almost fainted.

  Marcus and John were carrying a cask between them. God in Heaven! She swayed and swung in the direction of the innkeeper. Marcus, seeing her about to fall, dropped his end of the chest and pushed John out of the way as he raced for Tori. He saw John fall to the floor, the innkeeper lifting his hand to his head and crashing down in a heap.

  Marcus reached Tori just as she herself slid to the floor. Josh roared as Charles pushed him out of the way. “Oi seen it! Ye killed me brother!” he cried hoarsely. “Ye pushed ’im inta th’ line o’ fire ta take th’ ball. Oi seen it! Oi seen it!” he kept repeating over and over.

  “Ye’ve lost yer wits, man,” Josh bellowed. “The cold has numbed yer brain. Be still till we get the right of it. What happened, Scarblade?”

  Marcus, his mind in a turmoil, could only stare at the still form he held in his arms. “She tried to save us, Josh. The shot went wild and John got it. Look by the man, there’s the tongs she threw. See with your own eyes.”

  “That’s the way of it, Charles. Be still now. These wild ravings will not help John.”

  Charles pushed Josh out of the way. “Oi seen ’im,” he said stubbornly.

  “Aye! I did push him, but it was because I saw the girl about to fall,” Marcus explained. “I feared she would hit her head on the hearth. It’s the truth, Charles. The man shot wildly when the girl threw the tongs to save your brother and me!”

  “Take the bodies into the kitchens,” Josh said to Richard and Ned, who had come running into the room. “We can’t give them a decent burial in this heavy snow. Cover them,” he added kindly.

  “Oi need no ’elp, Scarblade,” Charles said sullenly “Oi can take care o’ me own, an’ some others,” he added softly to himself.

  Josh’s eyes questioned Marcus. “I don’t know the why of it, Josh. Who knows what that man was thinking. We did him no harm, and from the looks of this place there’s nothing to steal,” Marcus said, lowering his eyes to the slight, inert form in his arms.

  “She saved my life, Josh. But for her the ball that rests in John would be in me. Help me make her comfortable, then see if you can find something warm and dry to wrap her in. She doesn’t look well.”

  “Aye lad, I was thinking the same thing myself.” Soon he lumbered back to the fire, his arms full of quilts and blankets. “They be good and clean. No vermin in any of them,” he said, smiling reassuringly at Marcus. Gently they lay Tori by the fire and tried to unwrap the blanket that she had wound about her.

  “’Tiz stuck to her arm, somehow,” Josh said as he gave the wet blanket a tug. “Mother of God,” he roared to Ric
hard, who had come to stand by the fire. With the cloak soaked and the knife in readiness, Josh cut the caked cloth from her arm. Staring at him was a large, angry, swelling, bleeding wound. Josh gulped in sympathy. “The pain must have been unbearable,” he said softly to Marcus. “We must staunch the flow of blood. Already she has lost more than can be good for her. I don’t mean to be sounding cruel, Marcus, but you best be on your way. I can take care of the girl. Like you said, time is short and you’re burning it. She’s weak, but once the bleeding is stopped and we get something warm into her, she’ll be on the mend. My word, Scarblade, she’ll be fine.”

  Slowly Marcus rose to his feet, his eyes on Tori. His head whirled, his thoughts followed a maze. Why did this have to happen? Pain shot through him and clouded his eyes. Slowly he nodded. “Take good care of her, Josh. There is much I have to speak to her about.”

  With Richard’s help, Tori’s wound was cleaned and a dressing applied. She was swathed in blankets and laid by the fire. Josh ordered the men to find food. “Hot food and no slop,” he roared.

  Tori laid next to the blazing fire, dozing fitfully at first, eventually drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep. “I tell you, Josh, there’ll be trouble. Charles has gone for the sheriff. When he sneaked out, I have no way of knowing; ’twas John’s death that set him in a fury!”

  “’Twas an accident, not Scarblade’s doing.” Josh defended the highwayman.

  “Aye, Josh, we know. Still, if the authorities come here—what then? How do we explain John’s body and that of the innkeeper?”

  “I’ve been thinking, lads, we have to hide both the bodies. I hate to ask you, and I would do it myself, but with this chest of mine I fear another stint in that cold air would finish me off. Ye’ll have to dig out to the storehouse and wrap the bodies and put them under the piled snow. ’Tiz the best we can do for the moment. When and if the authorities come I’ll pretend that I’m the innkeeper. And ye’ll be my help and the lass will be me ailing sister. It may work. If not,” he shrugged elaborately, “best put the pouches alongside the bodies.”