Travel food for her journey home. Richard's heart ached all the harder. The thought of her leaving drove him half mad, but what other alternative was there'.'
Travis had watched her with a curious frown, but she'd only smiled and artfully deflected his attempts to persuade her to stay.
And now, here was Trudeau, sneaking after her. Richard swallowed hard as he studied the boatman's thick shoulders, the muscles bunched under a sun-bleached and frayed shirt Black hair, like matted wire, covered the engage's powerful forearms. Trudeau moved with a cat's quick agility, and, like the cat, had little mercy in his callous soul for victims.
What do I do? Run back for Travis? At that moment, Trudeau edged forward, crossing the clearing in carefully placed steps.
Willow remained oblivious, back turned to the engage.
Richard straightened, heart pounding as he gripped his Hawken. "Trudeau!" He stepped out into the clearing, scared half to death, and part of him suddenly sick from the realization that he'd just committed himself to a beating.
The engage stopped as Willow turned like a startled fawn, chokecherries falling from her container.
"Who?" Trudeau's eyes slitted, shoulders bunched. "It is you, Yankee. Go away. Now! Or I will hit you hard in the stomach again, eh?"
"Leave her alone." Richard pointed at Willow, hoping his arm didn't tremble.
"Willow and I, we have a talk, eh? It is not for you, weak little American. Leave now, and Trudeau will say nothing."
Willow had plucked the war club from her belt, dark eyes narrowing as she gripped it for a blow.
"She'll break your head," Richard warned.
"She will?" Trudeau threw his head back and laughed. "Why do you worry? This woman, she is squaw, non?"
"She's a guest. Travis told you. And Green, too."
"Bah! She's running away. What do you think, eh? She makes dried food for the journey. Very well, but before she go, Trudeau will say good-bye! And so will you, Yankee."
"I'll tell Travis."
Trudeau started toward him, hands outstretched. "You'll tell no one anything, Yankee. I think you will not leave here, eh?"
Richard looked past him, shouting, "Run, Willow!" and lifted the Hawken. The cock clicked loudly as Richard thumbed it back. "Not another step."
Trudeau's dark eyes smoldered. "You do not have the courage to shoot me ... no matter what hangs from your belt, crasseux chien."
The set trigger clicked under Richard's finger. "Believe what you want."
Willow had cut around to one side, her war club ready. Trudeau sneaked a glance at her, aware of the dark glint in her eyes.
"Lachement, batard!" Trudeau raised his hands, backing slowly away. "Perhaps you should shoot now, oui! If you do not, Trudeau will make you pay."
"You talk a lot."
"You will not always have the rifle!" Trudeau pointed an angry finger. And with that, he spun on his heel and crashed off into the chokecherries.
Richard took a deep breath and lowered the hammer to half-cock. A fine film of sweat had dampened his face and neck; now the cooling breeze wicked it away.
Willow lowered her Pawnee war club and chuckled, a twinkle in her eyes.
How can she do that? I'm almost trembling! He hung his head for a moment, and looked up from lowered eyes.
"Thank you, Ritshard." She stepped close and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I thought I was going to have to shoot him."
She shrugged. "Sometimes a man does not know when to quit. Tarn Apo has little patience for fools."
"He doesn't?"
"How many old fools do you know?"
"Quite a few—but they're all back in the United States." He studied her thoughtfully. "You're leaving very soon, aren't you?"
She kicked at the grass with a dainty foot. "My people are far to the west. I must go." Her dark brown eyes bored into his. "My husband and child are dead. I want to mourn them. You have made a place in my heart, but 1 cannot have you. You will go back to Boston . . . and Laura."
"Willow, I—"
"And there is more. I have listened to Green and Trawis talk about the Whites, and what will come. I need to think about this. Until I do, my soul will be like a twig on the river, bobbing, spinning, and never resting, never knowing where it is headed Do you understand?"
"I... I do." But, oh, God, I don't want you to go. He reached up, touching the corner of her cheek with the tip of his finger. She closed her eyes as he traced gentle fingers along her skin.
She took his hand, pressing it to her cheek. "Ritshard, you must promise me, after I am gone, tell Green I will send someone to him at the mouth of the river they call Big Horn. Will you do this for me?"
Her touch stoked a hollow tickle under his heart and he drew her to him. Her arms went around him and she buried her face against his neck. How perfectly she fit against his body, as if molded for him alone. Inhaling, he savored her aroma, sweet scent spiced by leather and woodsmoke. He ran his hands down her slim back and let them settle in the curve of her thin waist. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, and closed his eyes to savor the sensations conjured within.
Memories haunted him of that day at the river: her lithe body in the sun, and water like diamonds beading on her firm thighs. Dark nipples on rounded breasts, her flat belly accenting the curve of hip and the mystery hidden beneath glistening pubic hair. How proud she'd looked, broad-shouldered, midnight hair shining blue in the sunlight.
She tightened her grip, surprising him with her strength. Her body's heat burned into him, into his soul, and triggered a hammering of his heart. He wanted her, the need building with each pulsing rush of blood in his veins.
She felt him hardening and pushed away, slim hands on his heaving chest She searched his eyes with hers, seeking desperately . ..
"Dear Lord God, I... I can't, Willow." He shook his head, panting, dropping his eyes so she wouldn't see the shame, lust, and need all mixed together.
From the corner of his eye, he could see her nod and turn away, walking toward her basket of chokecherries. He knotted his muscles against the ache in his chest and let the fever ebb from his blood. I must think of Laura, of the promise I made to her. If I can’t keep that simple promise, how will I ever look myself in the eye again and still call myself a man?
They walked back toward camp in silence, casting furtive glances at each other. Everything seemed dreary and confused. So much piled on him: Trudeau at the precipice of a killing; Willow leaving; and the horrible emptiness inside— like rot hollowing out an old log.
Travis sat in the shadows with his back against a rolled blanket and watched Richard and Willow. Both were seated cross-legged, the fire separating them as surely as the invisible barrier they had erected. Travis braced his left arm on his knee, hand hanging limp but for snatching at an occasional mosquito. In his right, he cradled his pipe, puffing absently now and then to keep the tobacco smoldering.
Dick and Willow had placed themselves to be as far from each other as possible, but so they could watch each other in the least obtrusive manner.
Never known two people as happy ter torment each other as them two.
Once again, something had happened to upset the delicate balance they'd achieved. From across the camp, Trudeau cursed and jumped to his feet, fists balled, head bulled forward.
Just as quickly, Toussaint was up, his deep voice calming.
"Gonna be trouble with that French coon," Baptiste noted amiably as he appeared out of the darkness with a tin cup in his hand. He squatted at Travis's side, eyes gleaming from under the wide brim of his hat.
"Reckon." Travis caught the tightening of Richard's expression as he watched Trudeau. A curl of disgust bent Richard's lips. Wal, now there's part of it. Them coons has got each other so stiff-legged they's about ter fall over. And sure as God made sunsets. Willow was in the middle of it.
"You want I should go knock some sense inta his lights?" Baptiste indicated Trudeau with his cup "A feller c
an catch a whole heap of sense with a good hard whack to the side of the head."
Travis studied Richard from the corner of his eye. "Let him be fer now."
Baptiste stuck his jaw out sideways, caught the drift of Travis's thoughts, and grunted. "He'll get kilt."
"Yep. Reckon the fat's a-boiling fit ter spatter."
Richard had clenched his fists, a hard-eyed squint fastened on Trudeau. Willow had turned to watch, then regarded Richard with sober eyes.
Whatever was said by Toussaint, Trudeau hadn't wanted any part of it, for he stalked away from the engages’ fire. He'd headed for the edge of camp, then, as if on a notion, he changed directions to pass the fringe of Richard's fire.
"Coming ter a head now," Travis murmured to Baptiste. "Let her play out as she will."
Richard had hunched up, jaw set in his thin face. Travis had seen that crazy shine in men's eyes before; the twitchy set of the lips that betrayed a man pushed too far. Willow appeared unconcerned, but her fingers had tightened around the handle of the war club.
Trudeau hesitated as he approached, started to veer off, but couldn't resist, "You 'ave your rifle, mon ami? Is that what you stick in your hot Snake bitch? The only thing you own hard enough to make her moan?"
Richard's reaction even caught Travis by surprise. He leapt like a coiled spring, taking Trudeau around the waist. Richard bulled him back, pummeling with his fists. Instinctively, Trudeau clenched, lifting Richard off the ground as he tightened his grip in an attempt to snap the spine.
Richard kicked frantically and slammed an elbow into Trudeau's head before poking a thumb into his eye.
Trudeau howled, planted his hands in Richard's chest, and shoved him off. Richard tumbled backward as Trudeau rubbed at his eye, roared, and leapt in an attempt to stomp Richard's chest in. From flat on his back, Richard kicked Trudeau's legs out from under him.
With a newfound agility, Richard twisted away from Trudeau's falling body. Both scrambled to their feet in a flurry of dust to circle like bulks.
Engages had come at a run, and now their shouts and whistles added to the din as they cheered Trudeau on.
Richard feinted and grabbed for one of Trudeau's arms. The frantic fingers slipped as Trudeau planted a foot and lashed out with a fist to graze the side of Richard's head. Before the kid could recover, Trudeau was on him.
Travis put a hand on Baptiste's arm as the black hunter started forward.
When Trudeau hammered Richard into the ground, it drove the air from his lungs. Instinctively, Richard tucked his legs up—just in time to block the knee that jabbed for his crotch. Trudeau arched, pulling back a cocked fist. Richard took the opportunity and used the muscles of his gut and neck to butt his head into Trudeau's face. The smacking impact brought a howl from Trudeau.
The engages were dancing gleefully, swinging their fists in mock combat, clapping and shouting. Willow had backed away, lips parted, a gleam in her wide eyes as she clawed for the war club on her belt.
Trudeau was squealing his rage now, slamming his fist into the side of Richard's head. The Yankee gave a gasp, and the pain spurred something down inside him. His expression twisted, demonic, half mad with panic and desperation.
Travis finally moved, stepping up behind Willow as she tore her war club from her belt and started forward. "Leave 'em be," he warned, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Dick's got ter fight her out, gal."
Willow tensed, trembling, but lowered the Pawnee club.
Travis looked down at the thrashing bodies to see that Trudeau was clawing at Richard's face with hooked fingers.
Come on, coon. If'n he blinds ye, she's all over.
Dick was flopping like a fish in the boatman's grip, avoiding the gouging fingers. Sweat trickled, mixed with blood on Richard's face. As the inexorable fingers closed, Richard snapped like a turtle for a worm.
Trudeau shrieked, two of his fingers clamped between Richard's teeth. The Yankee bit down savagely, shaking his head like a terrier on a rat. At the same time, he got a hand back of Trudeau's head, and did a little clawing of his own.
Insane with pain, Trudeau bucked like a fresh colt, broke Richard's grip, and pounded a hard-boned left to the side of Richard's head to loosen those terrible jaws.
Trudeau rolled free, scrambling away.
"Dick! Get up!" Travis bellowed as Trudeau stumbled to his feet, careened off the surrounding boatmen, and leapt. Richard saw, rolled to the side, and Trudeau's hard heels slipped off his ribs instead of crushing them. As he sprawled, Richard curled and grabbed up one of the rocks from the fire ring. He grunted with effort as he bounced it off the side of Trudeau's head.
"God damn it!" Dave Green bellowed, elbowing through the circle. "Stop this at once!"
"Let 'em go, Dave!" Travis shouted, waving to get the booshway's attention. "They gotta finish it!"
Richard had used the moment to hammer the half-stunned Trudeau in the head again, but the heat from the rock was too much. He dropped it, balled a fist, and round-housed Trudeau in the face. Travis heard the bones in the Frenchman's nose snap. Richard sprawled on Trudeau's chest, hands clamping around the boatman's throat in a stranglehold.
Travis gauged the glaze in Trudeau's blinking eyes, and stepped forward as Trudeau managed to get a grip on Richard's wrists. To keep from being pulled free, Richard sank his teeth into Trudeau's ear. His neck and back strained as he tried to rip it off Trudeau's head.
"Whoa, now, hoss," Travis soothed, bending down. "Ye've got him, hear? Let him up, coon. Ye ain't ready ter kill him. It ain't what I'd figger a feller from Boston wants told in all them fancy houses on Beacon Hill."
Richard froze, muscles still straining, Trudeau's ear stretched tight in blood-stained teeth.
"Dick, damn it! Turn him loose!" Travis snapped. "That, or I'll whack ye a good one!"
Richard turned loose, rolled back on his haunches, then flopped onto his back to spit blood and saliva. He wiped his mouth and lay there, panting. Trudeau shuddered for breath, his mangled right hand going to his bruised throat, the left to his bloody ear.
"Sacre enfant du grace!" whispered one of the engages. "If I did not see, I would not believe!"
"Break it up!" Green ordered, waving his hands like shooing geese. "Go on! Morning comes early. Fun's over for tonight."
Willow had dropped down to one knee and dabbed at the blood running from Richard's nose. He winced at her touch, his half-burned hand cradled on his lap. His eyes had an oddly drained look as he stared at something far, far away, and mumbled, "I'm not a dog . . . not anymore."
Toussaint remained, head cocked, hands on his hips as he studied Trudeau, who lay curled on his side, gasping.
Baptiste gestured. "Come on, Toussaint. Let's get Trudeau down to the river. Reckon a dunking ain't a gonna hurt him none."
They bent down, pulling the blood-spattered boatman to his feet. As they walked off with Trudeau staggering between them, Travis heard Toussaint say, "When did zee little chick learn to fight like zee rooster?"
"Travis?" Green asked, finger flicking back and forth like a blind man's cane. "I take it this is all over?"
"Reckon so, Dave." And Travis couldn't help but smile as if it would break his face in two.
As Green walked off for his tent, he could be heard to mutter, "Massachusetts gentleman? My ass!"
Willow lay in her blankets and stared up into the cloud-black night sky. They'd crossed the Cannonball River the morning before. The French called it Le Bulet, for the round stones that littered the bottom of the channel. From what Green told her, the Whites had giant guns that could shoot such huge bullets for as far as a man could see. By now, she knew better than to be skeptical of such fantastic stories.
The first of the birds were chirping in the trees, a sure sign that the morning call of "Levez! Levez!" was near. She could hear someone stirring a fire and the sound of metal scraped on metal as the pots were laid out.
Willow turned her head to see Richard. His ghostly face was calm now, but
in the night his muted cries had awakened her. Only after she'd reached out and taken his un-burned hand had his sleep deepened. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, comforted by the touch.
What dreams had haunted him? Boston, with its lighted windows and all the people dressed in fine cloth? She'd listened to his descriptions, trying to place building after building, some with floors on top of other floors like a human beehive. Did the image conjured in her mind even come close to the way Boston really looked?
All of those women, drowning in layers of fabric until they can barely move. What do they think of so weighted with cloth, living their whole lives in wooden and rock boxes? Easier to imagine Cannibal Owl swooping over the peaks, looking for anyone who slept in the open, than to imagine living all of one's life inside a box.
She tightened her grip on Richard's hand as she remembered the aftermath of the fight with Trudeau. Like crossing a mountain, it marked a divide that she recognized but could not fully understand. He had fought for more than himself. He had fought for her, and that changed everything.
"I can't believe that was me," Richard kept repeating over and over as she wiped the blood from his face and daubed poultice on his burned hand.
It was you, warrior. Your courage is rising to match the puha hidden in your souls.
Someone coughed, one of the engages, and the faint burr of snoring carried on the cool morning. At the river, ducks quacked back in the reeds.
I only wish I could stay to see you find all of yourself
She shifted onto her hip to see him better. Only here, in the secret gloom of predawn, could she allow the longing in her souls to show. Only now, when no one might witness, could she allow herself to want him until the ache within her finally brought tears.
And that is a lesson for you, Heals Like A Willow. Coyote's lesson. The time to leave has come. For, if you don't, you will slip into his robes some night.
She'd imagined that enough times to know how it would unfold. His eyes would go wide as her fingers stilled the question on his lips. In the beginning he'd fight weakly, trying to protest as she loosened his clothing with her other hand.
The Morning River Page 50