Lilah wished the ride would take forever, but they were at the cabin in an amazingly short time. The ramshackle place had been vacant a long time. Weeds grew in abandon right through the broken boards of the steps. The hide windowpanes were ragged and torn and had long opened the interior to the elements. The door, however, was still stout, and Chapman bolted it behind them, licking his lips as he thought of the treat in store for him.
Chapman ordered Lilah to sit on the hewn log which served as a bench. He was anxious to get mundane things out of the way so that he might satisfy his lust. While Lilah waited, he produced writing materials from his saddle pouch.
With some thought, Lilah penned a letter which explained her plight without letting her father know how despicable Chapman really was. Better he should think she was well-treated than worry himself into a mortal illness. She took her time with the writing, attempting to squeeze every possible moment of delay from the task. After a time Chapman demanded she end the epistle, and when she had signed her name, snatched the paper from her hand. He found her words amusing and took pains to point out how thoroughly she had misled her father.
“You make me sound like a man of the cloth.” He laughed raucously. “Reckon you’d be surprised that I took up the Good Book and preachin’ once. Never could keep my eyes and hands off them sweet, tender things in the congregation, though. Had to leave my last charge in the dead of night. But it was worthwhile for the time I had with little Polly Jansen.”
Lilah knew he wanted her to ask what he’d done to little Polly, but she had no desire to know. Not for a minute since Chapman found her had she been able to free her mind from what he had threatened her with before. All her muscles were knit into tight knots in dread of what lay ahead. For once her ready tongue failed her and she could think of nothing else to lengthen the delay.
“Get up!” Chapman demanded.
Lilah stayed on the bench, but only until Chapman jabbed the pistol in her back. Though it must have been excruciating to do so, he held the gun in his right hand, the hammer back and ready. He ordered her to hold her hands out in front of her, and when she did, he slipped the loop of a rope over them and pulled it painfully tight. With surprising quickness he knotted the rope around her wrists, and before she could give him much of a fight, tossed the end over a beam and hauled her into the air so that her feet barely swept the floor. He stood back and laughed.
“Got me a candy apple hanging up here.” Chapman stepped near and lifted her flowing red hair with his gun barrel. He brushed a few strands caressingly against his face. His voice was droll, his eyes dancing with crazy lights. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter to bite than a candy apple.”
“Cut me down! You’re insane!”
But Chapman only half-listened to Lilah as he rubbed his groin against her skirts and took the red bandanna from his neck. “I’d sure like to listen to you scream, Lilah, darlin’. But sound carries a long way ‘round here. Don’t want nobody comin’ to investigate. No sirree. We don’t want nobody interruptin’ our fun.”
“If you kill me you’ll get nothing!” Lilah screamed. She could see that her words weren’t penetrating his crazed mind, but kept shouting at him anyway. “There’s no ransom if I’m dead.”
Chapman silenced her by tying the bandanna over her mouth and around her head. It tasted foul and just the odor of it nearly gagged her.
Laughing evilly, Chapman laid his gun on the bench, where it was handy if he needed it in a hurry. His favorite weapon was his knife, a bone-handled Bowie, sharper than a barber’s razor. He drew it out of the sheath in his boot, testing the blade’s edge on his gloved hand, and with a touch, slicing through the layer of leather. This he performed for Lilah’s benefit, and it had a sudden and demoralizing effect as her mind registered the threat.
Chapman moved behind her and with several quick flicks of the blade sliced the buttons from her dress. He cut through the lacings at her waist as well, then gave the garment a tug that sent it into a pool of blue silk beneath her feet.
Lilah moaned and tried to stay still, having learned that any movement caused the rope to notch into her wrists. Chapman’s maniacal laugh lit stark fear in her wide eyes. She expected to be split from throat to belly at any moment. Was that the uncontrollable thing he had done to little Polly Jansen, some pitiable child who had believed him a good man? She said a silent prayer.
Chapman picked up her dress and rubbed it against his face, sniffed the lingering scent of her perfume in the silken folds. He held the garment there a moment, then tossed it in the air and caught it on the blade of his knife. Moments later the dress lay in tatters around him.
He saw Lilah’s troubled breathing and fear-filled eyes and suffered a moment of pity in her behalf. “I ain’t gonna kill you, Lilah, darlin’. Don’t fret over that. I ain’t even gonna hurt you much. If I had two sound hands I wouldn’t even have you trussed up.” He sighed raggedly. “It ain’t hardly sportin’ with you tied.”
As he spoke, Chapman walked very close, the gleaming blade held in front of him. In spite of his words, Lilah feared this minute was her last. But again Chapman wielded the knife against only her garments as he cut the drawstrings on her petticoats. They fell and were quickly trampled under Chapman’s feet. He eyed the long, slender legs extending from her pantalets and the sleek, bare arms extending from her camisole. Again he rubbed the gloved hand against his loins.
It was happening again. His prick was standing on end. Feeling weak, Chapman gasped for breath as the abnormally fast surge of blood in his loins demanded all his strength. Damn, how he had wanted this to happen, and time after time, woman after woman, it had failed to. Finally he had gotten tired of being laughed at by whores and sluts and had found a way to pleasure himself with a woman even if he couldn’t use his pecker. ‘Course, none of them ever wanted his money again, and he reckoned more than one woman still wore his teeth prints like a tattoo. But this time, this once, he was going to shove it in a woman like a man.
“You got something special about you, Lilah,” he groaned, and indicated the bulge in his pants. “Something real special.”
All color drained from her face and most of her strength with it. Soon she wouldn’t be able to keep her head up. But what would it matter? Chapman’s intent was clear. He would rape and torture her and probably keep her just alive enough to take his pleasure over and over. She closed her eyes so tight they hurt.
“Open your eyes!” Chapman growled, feeling his erection lessen as she rejected him. “Look at what I’ve got for you.”
“No!” Lilah moaned behind her gag.
Her words weren’t clear but her meaning was. Chapman cursed her. “Look, I said!”
She felt his blade on her cheek, the tip of it puncturing her skin. Her eyes snapped open. Chapman dropped the blade, slowly drawing a red mark down her face but never actually applying enough pressure to slice the skin. The story was no different when he reached her breasts. He whisked the knife down and cut open the front of her camisole, baring her breasts to the steel blade and the mad stare of his eyes. With the point of his knife he drew patterns on her soft flesh, not cutting but leaving angry red streaks where his blade touched.
Lilah shuddered, but she preferred the knife to the touch of his hand, for his fondling was rougher and he bruised her flesh between his fingers. Chapman stayed his hand to open the slit in his trousers, moaning in anticipation as he reached for the throbbing rod inside, unaware the power she had over him was to be his undoing. The return of his ability to take a woman sapped him of all caution. As he swung his knife at the tie of her pantalets, he forgot that Stanton was searching for the girl. He moaned incoherently as Lilah hung helplessly before him, naked and inviting. Completely out of his head, he dropped his knife and reached out both hands to separate her legs and drive into her.
Lilah disdained the punishing cut of the rope into her wrists and gathered her legs beneath her, surprising Chapman with a wicked kick. The painful blow on his testicles quic
kly deflated his precious erection and destroyed his resolve about sparing Lilah’s life.
“You bitch!” Chapman screamed, and his face jerked spasmodically with the sudden violent start of the tic in his eye. “I’m gonna shave that red hair off your head and carve my name on your scalp!”
Spitting and fuming with rage, Chapman started to his feet. Before he was up and could make good on his threat, Tabor crashed through the cabin door. Chapman growled like a mad dog and made for his gun. Tabor allowed him the time to raise it before pulling the trigger of his Colt. This time his aim was true and the bullet cut a clear path through Chapman’s heart.
Tabor rushed over to Lilah and tore the gag from her mouth.
“He hurt me,” she said weakly, coughing and gasping for air.
Such an anguish took hold of Tabor that he could only whisper words of comfort. “I’m sorry, love. So sorry.” His voice shook. “He’ll never touch you again.”
Tabor cut Lilah down and carried her outside. She was half-dazed and he was glad for that. Her soft moans racked him with pain and she clung to him so tightly he had to pry her fingers from his arms to remove his shirt and cover her with it. She went limp then, whimpering like a hurt pup as he carefully pulled the sleeves over the welts and bruises on her wrists.
Tabor bundled her in his arms and held her against him until the soul-wrenching sobs stopped. He wished Chapman had another life to take. Somehow it seemed the man had not suffered enough by dying only once to pay for the torture he had inflicted on Lilah, or even for making the ugly marks on her skin.
“No! Don’t leave me alone,” she cried when, at last, he eased her out of his arms to search the saddle pouch on the horse he had borrowed. “Please,” she begged, and looked back at the cabin in horror.
Tabor could have cried out his anguish. She might not know he had killed Chapman. Did she think he was deserting her, that he would leave her with that bastard? She couldn’t know he would never have carried out any of the threats he made against her. Never. Not even when he had thought her deserving of some of them would he have harmed a hair on her head.
Lilah covered her face with her hands. She felt cold and afraid without Tabor’s arms around her. She could see he was only searching his saddle pouch for something, but there was nothing she needed more than to have him hold her. Chapman was dead. She would never forget the tortured look or the fury on Tabor’s face when he had broken open the door. Chapman’s fate had been sealed before Tabor pulled the trigger on his gun. She knew deep in the core of her heart that Tabor would have killed Chapman then at any cost to himself.
In the saddle pouch Tabor turned up a flask of whiskey. He poured a few swallows down Lilah’s throat, enough, he hoped, to dull the memories and the pain in her heart. He couldn’t bring himself to pour any on her bruised and swollen wrists. Sarah had ointments for that, soothing ones that would not add to the pain. The rope burns were bad and would last for a time but wouldn’t likely leave scars. The marks made by Chapman’s knife would probably be gone by morning.
When she seemed calm enough, Tabor returned to the cabin and got her petticoats. With Lilah clothed in them and in his shirt, he lifted her onto his horse, then climbed up behind her, balancing her on the saddle in front of him.
“I’m taking you home,” he whispered softly. “No one will hurt you again, Lilah. Not even me. I promise you that.”
Lilah heard his promises but was too weak to give more than a murmur in response. Her throat ached from all the suppressed screams. Her joints ached from the strain of being hung like a slaughtered animal before the butcher. Somewhere in the still-coherent part of her mind was a longing to speak out and tell Tabor he had never really hurt her at all. She closed her eyes and clung to him, so still he thought she was asleep.
With her head nestled against his chest he nuzzled her strawberry curls, whispering words of caring and sadness. “Lilah, my love,” he said. “I wish I could take back this day, this week, every moment of your life when there’s been hurt.” His throat tightened with sorrow. “My sweet Lilah. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t forced you to come here, if I hadn’t put my pride above the only thing that matters. I love you, Lilah. I wish you could hear me. I love you.”
As the moon overhead drifted in and out of the high clouds, Lilah drifted in and out of consciousness. Tabor’s declaration of love chased Chapman’s harsh words out of her head. Tabor loved her. Hadn’t he said that? Or had his voice sounded from within her own murky thoughts? Tabor loved her. Or did she only hear what she wanted him to say?
She moaned softly. Her arms locked tighter around his bare back. She wasn’t waking up, though he knew she must be sore and miserable. That she slept was a godsend, he knew. Her trembling had stopped. She would never be able to forgive him for putting her through this with Chapman. Better she not wake up until she was back at the Cooke ranch and could look into Sarah’s kind face.
As for himself, he regretted the brashness that had driven him to force her to do his bidding. The whole scheme was unworthy of him and had brought her to bitter grief. He had hoped to win her love but could only expect her continued loathing. A man of conscience would have sent her home after Chapman’s first attack. But he had not. He had imposed his stringent will and refused to show the mercy he might have given even to a frightened creature of the wild.
As soon as she was recovered enough to travel, he would make the arrangements for her return to Damon House. The Admiral—Rogue—was hers, and the debt, which now seemed such a trivial thing, was settled. She had paid it several times over with the loss of her happiness and the risk of losing her life. He would have to be content to savor the memories of holding her in his embrace. Hopefully the devastating experience with Chapman would not impair her ability to respond to her husband.
He hoped she found happiness with Barrett. The man seemed possessed of a gentle nature and kind spirit and would doubtless never cause Lilah the trouble she had known at his hand. By God, he had given her plenty of that.
Before reaching Sandy Flats, Tabor met Wyrick and Sarah in the buggy. They had pulled up and waited at the spot where Tabor had tied Lilah’s horse. While Tabor lifted Lilah into the buggy beside Sarah, Wyrick used the blade of a small knife to work the stone from beneath the horse’s shoe. In his mind Tabor damned Chapman again for sending him out on a false trail. If he hadn’t followed the lame horse, he would have gotten to Lilah sooner.
Leading the footsore horse and riding close beside the buggy as it rattled down the road, he saw Lilah find a brave smile for Sarah. His heart split in two when Lilah’s tears flowed unchecked and she buried her head against his aunt’s comforting shoulder.
* * *
The blush of another dawn tinted the morning sky above the ranch house. All night Lilah had fought her demons, the one with Chapman’s face, those six who stared down at a helpless child, and one other, who in the fighting had become a tall, lean man, the man she loved. But with the start of a new day she was racked with doubts. Tabor had saved her, had staked his life to save her. But did he love her? Was that one good part of what she remembered about last night true or had she simply invented the one thing she needed to save her sanity?
If only she could remember. Had he whispered the words that now lay like strewn petals in her mind? Had he kissed her face, her hair, and held her with more tenderness that he would have any other? Tabor was a fair man—or at least his sense of justice was as fair as her own. She knew that after what she had suffered from Chapman, he would release her from her debt. He would allow her to leave the Cooke ranch. What she wanted with all her heart was for him to ask her to stay. What she feared was that he would not.
Lilah sobbed. Sarah took her hand and assured her she had no more reason to be afraid. Lilah nodded and took the clean handkerchief Sarah offered. She dried her eyes and nose, then asked Sarah for a cup of tea so that she might have a few minutes alone with her thoughts.
“Tabor will want to see you as
soon as you feel up to it,” Sarah said softly.
Lilah’s sobbing started again. “I can’t. Not yet, Sarah,” she pleaded. “Tell him I’ll need a little while.”
What if he let her walk away without a word to stop her? What if all she had seen in his face last night, all she had heard in his voice, had been pity because of her mistreatment by Chapman? What if he didn’t love her? Oh! She cried all over again. How could he love her after what she had led him to believe? She was ensnared in the web of lies she had spun. He was convinced she was a woman who had enjoyed many men. He believed she had led a wicked, sinful life as Delilah and that she planned to keep her dark secret from a hapless husband.
He couldn’t want such a woman. He wouldn’t believe the truth about her now. And she couldn’t bear to face him and know he would never return her love.
As Lilah dried her eyes again, Sarah left the room. Tabor stood outside the door, where he had kept a vigil through the night.
“It’s good she slept, even if it was a fitful rest,” Sarah whispered to him. “The memories aren’t as strong now.”
The worry on Tabor’s face lined it beyond his years. Dark shadows hovered beneath his eyes, and even hours after coming on that scene in the deserted cabin, tension pulled at his muscles and nerves.
“Did you give her laudanum?”
Sarah shook her head. “She wouldn’t take it. She asked for brandy and drank down enough to stop the shaking.”
“Did he...? Is she...?” Words tangled on his tongue. He thought he had gotten there before Chapman raped her. But the way his pants had been wrenched open, the way he’d had her strung up, and the time he’d had while Tabor chased Lilah’s riderless horse, he might have defiled her in other base ways.
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