As she wrenched about, the cry in her throat changed to a choking gasp. “Zach!” Joyful shock went through her.
“Yes, and you’re damn lucky it is!” Still pinioning her, he gave her an exasperated shake. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” she shot back, anger blotting out her first relieved happiness. “Sneaking up on me, frightening me out of my skin …?”
“You seem to be firmly arranged inside it,” he said. “I’ve followed you all day, thinking you must surely have planned to meet with a party, but when you camped here—Are you trying to get back to Camp Bowie on your own?”
“What does it look like?” she snapped, jerking away from him and scrambling to a safer distance. “Why are you spying on me? You ought to be almost home by now!”
“After your prospective brothers-in-law got me out of jail, I had a little celebration. When I sobered up, the girl—someone told me you lost your bridegroom at the altar. So I decided to hang around and see if you might want my help getting back north.”
Her lip curled. “Even after what the de Haros gave you, you still want Erskine’s reward?”
His eyes narrowed before he shrugged. “Every little bit helps.”
“If you trailed me to the hacienda, why didn’t you just offer to escort me from there instead of playing this silly game?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “With you, I’ve learned to expect complications. If you had some dashing hidalgo or officer in reserve and were meeting him, I didn’t want to intrude.”
“What a flattering opinion you have of me!”
“Erskine didn’t offer a reward because you were his daughter’s governess,” he said rather bitterly. “Michael O’Shea didn’t volunteer for patrol after patrol just because you were a friend. You even had Kah-Tay eating from your hand. So yes, hell, yes, I expected you had more strings to your bow than your lamented Don Roque. Since you apparently didn’t, he must have been quite a man.”
“He was,” retorted Brittany. “He was well-educated, entertaining, courteous, and—”
“Master of all he surveyed, including you!” cut in Zach with a sardonic grimace.
They scowled at each other in the gathering night. When he spoke again, Zach’s tone was softer, hesitantly embarrassed. “I’m sorry about Don Roque, Brittany. That was pretty awful.”
She longed to tell him everything, spill out her confused feelings for Roque, the bargain they had made, and how she truly mourned him, feeling almost guilty at her relief to have escaped that marriage. She couldn’t explain, though, without letting Zach guess that she loved him. That would never do, not when all he seemed to care about was the reward.
So, woodenly, she said, “Yes. It was terrible.”
He got to his feet. “I’ll bring my horse over and bed down between you and the spring.”
Shivering in the chill, she wondered if he remembered anything of those nights when they’d slept near each other in Sara’s lodge and in the cave. Probably not. Even if he had vague impressions of those times when he’d been helpless, they were the sort of memories he’d want to forget.
“Have you eaten?” she asked in a cool voice.
“Had some jerky and dates.” He picked up the half-emptied waterbag. “I’ll fill this since I made you spill it.”
He vanished in the trees. Brittany was glad that most of the food took lots of chewing. It let her vent some of her mortified resentment, intensified by the fact that in spite of his viewing her as a means to a reward, she was immeasurably glad to see him, know that he was well.
As she heard him coming with the horse, she finished munching and dived into her blankets. Lying tense and rigid, she heard muffled sounds as he unsaddled, turned his horse loose, and prepared to sleep.
He didn’t come near her. Brittany’s mouth twisted. Apparently he meant to deliver her intact to Major Erskine. Of all the men she might have loved, why did it have to be him?
Emotionally drained by Roque’s death, physically weary from the long day’s ride, she sank into a slumber so torpidly heavy that it drew her down like quicksand.
She approached the flowery altar. Rogue turned. As he reached for her hand, Lisette drove a gleaming blade into his throat. Brittany watched in horror. His face started to change. By the time he had crumpled at her feet, he was Zach. His blood pumped over her white shoes—
Strong hands were shaking her out of the dream. She woke to her own moaning sobs but couldn’t stop them, shuddering in arms she didn’t know as Zach’s until he said in a tone more gentle than he’d ever used with her, “Go ahead. Cry it out. You’ll feel better.”
At that moment, overwhelmed by the dreadful realism of the nightmare, she couldn’t control herself. Huddled against Zach, she wept stormily till she felt she would never be able to shed a tear again. As she quieted, she heard the beat of Zach’s heart next to her cheek, powerful and steady.
He was alive, thank God, he was alive! She would be grateful for that and not lament that he didn’t love her.
Roughly, he smoothed her hair. “All right now? Can you sleep?”
“I’d better,” she said with a shaky laugh. “We have to travel tomorrow.”
“A little snort of wine wouldn’t hurt.” Rising, he moved noiselessly through the dark, returned with a leather bag.
She coughed at the acrid sting, but the next swallows went down more easily. “That’s enough,” he said, chuckling. “You don’t want a splitting skull tomorrow.”
Did his lips brush her forehead or, slightly dizzy from the wine, did she imagine it? Sighing, she lay down, the warm glow in her throat and stomach radiating out, relaxing every muscle.
This time, she slept well.
XXV
Zach was so silently irascible the next day that Brittany thought she must have imagined his kindness. As they rode, the slight headache she had on waking grew into throbbing misery. Self-pity welled up as she doggedly set her teeth and fixed her gaze on his broad, easily swaying shoulders.
He hadn’t wanted to be disturbed again, so he’d given her that rotgut, damn him! He’d barely grunted when she’d said good morning. If this was the way he was going to behave on the journey, she’d rather be alone.
“We’d better rest the horses,” he said about noon.
Not a hint that she might need a pause! Slipping out of the saddle before he could help. Brittany winced at the jolt of pain that shocked through her head, but worked stubbornly to loosen the cinch. It didn’t improve her temper when with one tug he released the strap and hauled off the saddle.
“Reckon we could have a fire if you’d like to stew up some corn and jerky.”
“I don’t like and I’m not your servant!”
She started to stomp over to some trees, but that sent reverberations through her skull and she wound up moving very gingerly. Zach’s grim look dissolved as he squinted at her and burst out laughing.
“Damned if that little swig of wine hasn’t given you a hangover!”
She glared at him, not knowing which aggravated her headache most, that incredulous blue stare or the brilliant light of the sun. She closed her eyes against both, for once not caring what he thought.
“Here. Get this down and you’ll feel better.”
Roused from a stuporous haze, she peered woozily at him. He hunkered down and held a bowl for her. “I—don’t feel like eating,” she muttered.
“You’re having this if I have to pour it down you.”
He meant it. Any excuse to belittle and bully her! Wrinkling her nose at the pungent, spicy odor, she took a cautious sip. It left a fiery but invigorating trail all the way to her stomach.
“What is it?” she spluttered.
“Pounded jerky, cornmeal, and chilies,” he said proudly. “Figured it out once I was trying to get over a tear in El Paso. Guaranteed!”
“To burn out your gullet?” she grumbled.
He only proffered the bowl commandingly. Brittany swallowed it all, pausing bet
ween mouthfuls to let her tongue cool. By the time the bowl was empty, she felt restored enough to glower at Zach and say nastily, “I suppose that anyone who carouses a lot has to know a way to get back to normal.”
“You certainly seem to be,” he said sarcastically. “All sweetness and light!”
“You don’t have to ride with me,” she thrust. “If you’re going to act like a jailer bringing in a felon, I wish you’d just go on by yourself.”
Standing, he towered over her. “I should think that after the way I sneaked up on you last night, even you would see you’ve got no business out here alone.” He folded his arms. “I told Erskine I’d bring you back, and by God I will.”
Always that reward! Brittany’s eyes stung. She looked at the ground so he wouldn’t see any betraying moistness.
His boots moved away to return in a moment. He spread out a blanket. “Rest awhile,” he said gruffly. “The grass here’s good. Might as well let the horses fill up.”
“Thanks,” she said icily.
“Don’t mention it!”
The boots stalked away.
For a moment she thought of refusing to lie down, before she reflected that it was folly to punish herself. She might as well seize the chance to relax and try to lose the last tapping of that tiny spiked hammer that now and then struck the swollen edges of her brain.
Smothering a sigh, she stretched out on the blanket, pulled half of it over her, and tucked her face into the bend of her arm.
A voice foggily penetrated her drowsing. “Better get moving unless you want to stay here all night.”
She sat up, held her breath till a few sullen pulsings in her cranium stopped, and didn’t argue when he handed her a bowl half full of his potent soup.
Braced by it and the nap, she felt well enough to be forgiving, but when the remarks she offered met with indeterminate “Uhms” or at most a few brusque words, she urged La Dorada past him so she wouldn’t have to watch that irritatingly erect broad back.
When they stopped a little before sundown, she made haste to unsaddle, quickly collected tinder and sticks, and made a small fire so a stew could simmer before dusk. She wouldn’t take anymore favors from him. If it killed her, she’d keep up and do her share of the chores.
“Maybe I should try snaring a deer,” he said as they ate. “It’s not too smart to wait till we run clear out of jerky.”
“Why don’t we roast mescal stalks?” she countered.
He arched a dark eyebrow. “You taken a liking to Apache grub?”
“Mescal’s good.” Not for anything would she have told him she’d seen enough death without knowing a swift graceful creature had died for their food. “We can roast the stalks a lot faster than we can cure jerky.”
“All right,” he shrugged. “Guess I might as well learn how it’s done in case the day comes when that’s all there is to eat.”
By noon next day she had spotted two of the dull-green spike-leafed plants with upthrusting shoots resembling giant heads of asparagus. From what Sara had explained, Brittany thought the stalks should be tasty until they started to flower. The common name of century plant was misleading. An agave only sent up one stalk, which grew with amazing speed, sucking stored nourishment from the base of leaves, but its life span was more like ten to twenty years than a hundred.
“It’s a shame not to roast the hearts too,” she said as Zach cut off a stalk as close to the base as possible. “But I guess we don’t have time to dig a pit, roast several hearts, and wait for them to dry.”
“We’d better just use the stalks,” he said, eyeing them with considerable doubt.
Roasted over coals, though, and peeled, the food was a success, and there was some left for that evening. “Looks like you did learn some handy things from the Apaches,” Zach acknowledged as he peeled another length. He ruined the compliment by adding, “Handy, that is, if you’re going to live like an Indian.”
Brittany almost choked on the sweetish pulp. He had to be the most cross-grained, difficult man alive! That night she put a heavy dose of chilies in the corn soup, but he blandly finished it off after consuming the rest of the mescal. She was the one who tried vainly to quench the fire in her mouth by drinking lots of water.
Helped by mescal stalks, their jerky held out till they reached the mining camp. Father Damiano was shocked to hear of Roque’s death, but he made them welcome, accepted a brief explanation of why they were together, and had a delicious meal prepared.
He urged them to stay for a few days. When they refused, he helped Zach get their supplies at half the appalling price the storekeeper at first demanded.
Brittany slept in the same room she had occupied when dreading to leave Zach behind. That memory softened her a bit toward him. After a lavish breakfast of tortillas smothered in chili sauce, cheese, and beans with a couple of eggs on top, they resumed their journey.
“It seems ages since we came this way,” she said when they stopped for a noon rest. “But it’s been less than two months.”
“Yes.” Zach’s tone was curt. “It didn’t take you long to almost marry a fortune.”
Startled at such callousness, she stared at him. He went crimson from throat to hairline. “Never mind,” he grated. “Major Erskine’s not as young as Don Roque or as rich, but he’s certainly an officer and a gentleman.”
“Which you aren’t!”
He finished the tamale he was eating from the husk, wiped his hands on his pants, and said deliberately, “Since we agree that I’m not—” He reached for her.
Brittany scuttled back, but had her retreat blocked by a rock outcropping. He brought her down, one hand beneath her head, the other bringing her against him. Caught between his body and the earth, she couldn’t have struggled effectively, had no strength for it in any case, for his closeness robbed her pride and anger. He was the man she loved.
His mouth was angry at first, ruthlessly assaulting hers, forcing her lips apart, but when she was open to him, vulnerable, his lips gentled, softened warmly, and explored hers as if tasting till they roved on to savor her throat. Beneath her tunic, his hand trembled to touch her breast. Wild sweetness flowed through her. Her arms went around his neck. She wanted only to be his, match his hunger, glory in the hard strength of his body.
He groaned, tore himself away. Lost in waves of building desire, she didn’t realize he’d gotten to his feet till his voice rasped in her ears. “Let’s ride.”
Hastening to sit up, jerking down her tunic, Brittany half whispered her bafflement. “Zach, why—”
The contempt in those midnight eyes seared her. “Maybe you could fool Erskine into thinking he was getting fresh goods, but even though I’m not a gentleman, I’ve always delivered what I promised to.”
Furious, she sprang up. “I’m not a bolt of calico!”
“No, you’ve got a better shape.”
He tossed a saddle on La Dorada. Brittany rushed forward to secure the cinch, barely able to see for hot tears of rage. She wanted to scream at him that she hadn’t asked Erskine to give a reward for her return and that her virginity was none of that officer’s business, but she couldn’t trust her voice.
Fixing her toe in the stirrup, she swung herself into the saddle before Zach could help her and started down the valley.
They would be nearing the canyon leading to Kah-Tay’s ranchería. When they camped that evening, Brittany said she must try to find out if Jody and some of the others had escaped.
“Can you tell one bunch of bones from another, especially after coyotes and buzzards have been at them?” When she stared at him, he said with forced patience, “Listen, there’s nothing you can do by going over there. If some escaped, they’re fine. If they didn’t, you’ll just distress yourself and lose us a couple of days.”
“If Jody’s dead, and my friends, I want to bury them.”
“What good will that do? It’s too late to keep the bodies from being dragged apart and eaten.”
“They were Apac
hes. Being buried the right way is a lot more important to them than it is to us.”
“Sometimes I think you’ve almost turned into one.” He brushed back a fall of auburn hair. “Brittany, that ranchería’s going to be a mess. If you’re set on it, I’ll ride back and bury whatever I find around Kah-Tay’s lodges.”
“I’m coming too.”
He shrugged. Dusk was gathering. He shoved earth over the fire and went off to his blankets.
About midmorning they reached the mouth of the canyon. Zach glanced at Brittany. “You can wait here while I ride up.”
In answer she reined La Dorada abreast of him. This was the way Kah-Tay had brought her. Along the washes and slopes, she had gathered blackberries, chokecherries, wild grapes, and acorns. It almost seemed that she could hear old Grouchy mumbling, Pretty Eyes’s laughter, see Sneezes’s big eyes peering out of his cradleboard as Fawn reached for a high branch.
Bracing herself for something like a battlefield months after an encounter, Brittany mistook several round white rocks for skulls, kept nervously alert for the first bleached jointed backbones that might have been scattered by scavenging beasts.
There was none. The canyon widened into the valley, the level area where Pretty Eyes’s ceremonial lodge had been raised. There were still no broken skeletons, no buckskin or blankets rotting away from leg or arm bones, no sign that people had died violently in this lovely place.
Except for the burned wickiups, it would have been hard to guess that people had ever lived here. Brittany’s scalp prickled. She turned to Zach in bafflement. “What’s happened?”
“Mexicans wouldn’t have cleaned up like this,” he frowned. “Some of Kah-Tay’s bunch got away, or another group came through and did the burying.”
Brittany felt both relieved and frustrated. She could go on hoping Jody and her friends had escaped, but she’d probably never know. Her eye caught something hanging from a tree beyond the ranchería. She rode slowly over, halted with a gasp when she saw a small skull staring but over the lacings of a cradleboard.
Sneezes had not been protected by the lightning-blasted wood and badger’s claw dangling from the sunshade, but at least kindly hands had placed him here and left a tus of water for his journey.
Woman of Three Worlds Page 26