If possible, her look grew more stubborn. "Oh, yes, it is. It most certainly is!" She motioned with the gun and Hakki drew him out of the tent and back to the wagon.
He did not resist when Hakki replaced the manacles and, since it was night, the shackles on his ankles. "You know that I'm not Esteban Garcia, Hakki," he tried, his voice a husky whisper. "Why don't you let me go?"
"I am her servant."
Hakki tossed Alex a blanket, and they both glanced toward the tent as the light winked out. "She owns you."
To Alex's surprise, Hakki shook his head. "No, I belong to the Sultan of Constantinople, Abdülmecid."
"Then why-"
“Abdülmecid chose my mistress to be the first concubine of his second son. Her uncle came from Boston to change the Sultan’s mind. I do not know the details of the deal they made. However, after the term of one year, I am to return my mistress to Constantinople to Prince Akmed.”
“She agreed to this?”
“Her uncle agreed to this. I do not believe she has a choice.”
Alex scratched his head thoughtfully. “Is that why she’s rushing off to California? She seems pretty stubborn. How do you plan to convince her to go back to Constantinople?"
The ebony man grinned, a beacon in the starless darkness. "You ask too many questions, Pacheco. Sleep now." With that, he turned and carried his bedroll to the door of the tent. He spread it outside, guarding the women within, lay his scimitar between him and the flap, removed his hat and relaxed into his blankets. Within minutes, Alex could hear the man's soft, even breathing.
Despite the late hour and the rigors of walking behind the wagon for hours, the keen disappointment Alex felt kept him awake. His family must be frantic by now, wondering what had happened to him. No, no. Only his brother Manuel would know at this point; he could not have returned to California yet. It took three months, and Alex had no idea if or when Manuel would leave Boston.
So many would be hurt if Alex did not return home before Manuel brought the sorry news of his disappearance. And yet, there was no chance that Alex would make it to the rancho before Manuel. It took longer than the voyage by ship to travel across the continent in this primitive fashion. And, there were sure to be delays in Salt Lake City, while the authorities sorted out his tale. If they sorted it out. Being hung for crimes he had not committed did not bear thinking about. It was a possibility, however, and made escape seem even more necessary and appealing.
The night sky was dark, starless, moonless. Clouds held the day's warmth in and for this Alex was glad. He was not a man used to great luxury; it was a hard life on the rancho; harder still aboard ship, where he spent a great deal of his time. Still, sleeping on the hard ground with only a thin blanket made him yearn for his big feather-bed at home. Warm, soft, like a woman's embrace.
Would Linnet be very upset when he did not return with Manuel? She was so young. At nineteen she was thirteen years younger than he. Linnet claimed to love him, but what was the love of a sheltered young woman? Her joy at his proposal of marriage might have very well been more a happiness of leaving home, escaping a father's stern eye. It mattered very little, Alex thought.
He did not love her either. His heart had been torn from his body and nailed within the coffin which held his Magdalena. His sweet, sweet Magdalena. Alex felt the burning pain of her loss with each breath he took. It had been almost four years, but he would never forgive himself for what he had done.
Linnet could never replace Magdalena, and that was exactly why he had chosen her. His son Rudy was beginning to show the need for a mother's soft care, and Linnet would perform that job admirably. She would, in time, provide other children, brothers and sisters for Rudy to love. Linnet was sturdy, made for bearing many children. Another reason he had chosen her.
Such wide-hipped women had never been appealing to him before he determined to find a second wife. His tastes had run, and still did if he was honest with himself, to slim, graceful women, smooth-skinned and fragrant and clean. But, while he could enjoy them, he knew with bitter certainty that he could not take another such woman to wife.
He turned his head toward the tent. Glee Montrose was slim and graceful, with a mysterious need to hide it beneath huge, ugly gowns. What, he wondered, had driven her to bury herself so deeply? Had her life in the harem scarred her in some way? Perhaps the Sultan had abused her so brutally that she felt the need to keep all men away. Her appearance certainly could have that effect. Were it not for the fact that Alex had first seen her without her unattractive dark spectacles, he would have thought her very plain indeed. But, her turquoise eyes, fringed by thick dark lashes, tipped upward like an oriental and full of intelligence and fire, had intrigued him immediately. Seeing her body silhouetted in the candlelight this evening had proven to Alex beyond a doubt that there was much more to Glee Montrose than met the eye.
It might be amusing, he considered, to find out more about her as he plotted his escape. He drifted off to sleep remembering "the little mustang" and wondering if the ride might be worth the nips she delivered.
* * * *
A slow drizzle began in the cold hour before dawn, and Alex climbed under the wagon to avoid getting soaked. He watched Fletcher stir awake then take himself into the shelter of the cottonwood trees. No doubt now that Fletcher was up the day would begin. Another dreary, grueling 24 hours along the Oregon-California Trail.
Hakki rose and went inside the tent. Although after bathing with Hakki, Alex was well aware that the man was a eunuch, it still gave him pause to know that both of the woman's male servants were privileged to see her unclothed. It was like nothing he had ever encountered before, though he was well-educated and well-traveled. If she were his woman, he would forbid it. It wasn't right for a woman to have so little shame before men. She had infinite modesty when facing the world, but a total lack thereof with her servants. But then, Glee Montrose wasn't like other women.
As though he had conjured her forth, she stuck her white-capped head out the flap of her tent. She looked toward the purpling eastern horizon where the sun's light was growing ever-stronger, then overhead at thick clouds that were quickly turning the dry earth to mud.
"Hakki," he heard her say. "Go and fetch the long leather coats from the wagon. One for you and one for me."
There was a long pause.
"Of course I'm going to ride on the bench with Hakki, Amina! Haven't I done so every day? A little rain doesn't frighten me." The tent flap was raised, and Alex could see Hakki coming out. "Oh, and Hakki?" The eunuch turned back. "Tell Jake Fletcher I want to see him at once."
"Yes, mistress."
Hakki fetched the leather dusters from the wagon's interior, and woke Erdogan up as well. He had Erdogan take one coat to their mistress and donned the other himself along with his wide-brimmed Stetson. The tall man's strides took him into the trees quickly.
Erdogan paused only long enough to relieve himself behind a thorn bush on the far side of the wagon, then hurried into the tall tent with the leather coat held over his head for shelter. Within moments, Amina emerged from the tent. She was a tiny woman, handsome rather than pretty, perfectly formed, and beautified instead of marred by the horizontal scars on her right cheek. A long coat covered her completely, far too big, and she was wearing Glee's hat as well. The woman set to work distributing cold biscuits and jerky, giving Alex a goodly portion.
She paused when he said thank-you, looking at him with an unfathomable expression. Her hands moved in a pattern.
Alex shook his head, studying her.
Again her hands moved. She pointed to the tent.
"Glee?" he asked.
She nodded and repeated the sign.
"Ah, si. You are saying her name—Glee." Amina was trying to talk to him. But why? She'd never made the effort before. He watched her and learned.
Amina painstakingly taught him a few signs, and after several minutes Alex thought he understood.
"Glee believes you," Amina gestured.
Alex snorted and rattled his chains. "Obviously."
Amina smiled. "Wait," she signed. "You'll see." She moved away from the wagon before Alex had a chance to tell her just how wrong she was.
He was working his way through his breakfast when Hakki and Fletcher came back into camp. Fletcher was grumbling and gesturing wildly.
"Go'damn women! A man can't even crap in peace!" He turned to Hakki and swung a thumb toward the tent. "She decent?"
The tall man nodded and swung the tent flap aside for Fletcher. He waited for Amina and Erdogan to exit, scurrying out with bundles and bedding, then followed Fletcher inside.
The wagon creaked as Amina and Erdogan climbed inside, and Alex missed the first of Fletcher's words. "- reason fer sendin' yer mongrel to get me?"
"Please do not refer to Hakki as a mongrel, Mister Fletcher. You know his name. Feel free to use it."
Fletcher snorted. "Yeah. So, watcha wanna talk about? This storm's gonna get worse 'fore it gets better. I wanna get a move on."
"Mister Fletcher," she began, her voice sounding silky and subtly coaxing to Alex. "It's about your prisoner." There was a pause. "I don't think he should walk behind the wagon anymore."
"You don't think..." Fletcher's scratchy voice rose with surprise and indignation. "What the hell makes you think anythin' 'bout my prisoner? You just keep yer pointed little nose outta my business, ya hear, missy?"
"Hakki," she said calmly, "there's no need to be concerned. Mister Fletcher does not mean to harm me, I am sure." A pause. "I assure you, Mister Fletcher, that I did not intend to offend you with my suggestion. On the contrary, I commend you for your efforts to rid the country of those odious miscreants responsible for intimidating and menacing law-abiding citizens."
Alex nearly laughed. He could imagine Jake Fletcher trying to decide if she was complimenting or criticizing. The man must have decided it was a compliment.
"Yeah, well..."
"He slows us down, Mister Fletcher. To keep from dragging him behind, and undoubtedly doing him serious, perhaps fatal, injury, Hakki has kept the oxen to a rather sedate pace. Surely you agree that this is no stroll in the garden, to be done leisurely?"
"'Course not."
"Then you must see that he should be put on a horse for the re-"
"Nope."
Alex recognized the stubborn tone of Fletcher's terse response.
"Then inside the wagon?"
Alex waited, fighting against hope, while Fletcher took his time considering.
"I guess that'd be all right. Long as ya don't baby him none. He's a murdering, theivin' greaser, and that's all. He don't deserve no royal treatment."
Alex could have cheered. Glee was pleased too, by the tone of her voice. "We won't change our treatment of him one whit, Mister Fletcher. You have my word."
A smile crinkled the corners of the prisoner's eyes. He recognized the double entendre in her words. She was a clever woman. Clever and intriguing. And right now, he owed her a debt. Likely he'd never have a chance to repay it. Now that he wouldn't be absolutely exhausted each and every day, every ounce of his concentration and energy going toward taking one more step, he'd be able to work on his escape plan. Alex wished that he could take Glee Montrose with him when he left. The idea was squashed nearly as quickly as it occurred to him. The last thing he needed during an escape attempt was a smart-aleky, unpredictable, gun-wielding woman complicating things!
Chapter 9
F letcher left the tent, and within an hour the camp was packed up and the wagon was underway.
They followed the Little Blue River as it wound its way across eastern Nebraska. The rain increased its pace, steadily becoming a downpour as the day progressed. Finally succumbing to her servants' coaxing and scolding, Glee climbed into the rear of the crowded wagon with Erdogan, Amina and Alex.
She shrugged out of her soaked coat, draped it over a crate, and placed her hat atop it. She had reached for the damp silk scarf wound around her hair, when she caught Alex's eyes on her and she stopped. Instead, she pulled off her spectacles and laid them on the brim of her hat. Sighing, she leaned against the wagon's side and relaxed.
Amina was sewing tiny, neat stitches into a gray woolen shirt. Erdogan was singing an incomprehensible song softly to himself, his eyes closed. It was almost as if Alex and Glee were alone.
"I overheard Fletcher say that we'd be at Fort Kearny in about three days," Alex said.
"Mmhmm," she replied. "It'll be nice to see civilization again, if only for a night."
He smiled, and enjoyed seeing her return the expression. "I appreciate what you did for me this morning, Glee."
She bristled at the use of her first name, and frowned at him. "I didn't do anything I wouldn't do for any person who was being abused. It doesn't mean a thing."
"It means a lot to me."
Apparently, she didn't know what to say in response, so she just blinked those magnificent eyes a few times and tightened her lips.
After a time, Amina put down her mending and gestured toward Glee.
Glee smiled. "That's a good idea. It is rather boring in here." She crawled over Amina's legs toward Alex at the back of the wagon-bed. At a battered sea chest, she stopped and opened the lid reverently, as though looking into a treasure box.
The chest was full of books, and the soft, musty smell of old leather bound volumes drifted up to Alex like an intoxicating perfume overwhelming Glee's subtle rose fragrance. He glanced in at some of the titles and recognized many from his own library.
"What shall it be, Amina?"
Amina thought for a minute.
"How about Tennyson?"
Amina shook her head.
"Elizabeth Browning?"
The black girl crinkled her nose.
Glee shook her finger. "You're not fooling me. You want me to read Byron to you again. Aren't you ashamed?"
Alex was amused. He'd read Byron in college and found it very eloquent and dynamic, sometimes arousing. The works were daring, and included some rather lurid references that ladies shouldn't understand. Glee Montrose was probably one who would. He laughed.
Glee looked at him with half-a-smile and eyebrows cocked. "You've read Byron?"
He nodded. "And Missus Browning. Though I admit, I prefer Lord Byron."
She looked skeptical. "I prefer Browning."
Alex smiled "Then you will recognize this:
‘Love me with thy voice, that turns
Sudden faint above me;
Love me with thy blush that burns
When I murmur Love me!’"
A pink glow came to her cheeks, but she nodded. "From 'A Man's Requirements.' But you have forgotten the ending:"
‘Thus, if thou wilt prove me, Dear,
Woman's love no fable,
I will love thee - half a year -
As a man is able.’"
He laughed at her cleverness, placing a hand over his heart briefly. "Ah, Señorita, you have caught me. I did forget the ending. And I am not surprised that you remember it, as it is hardly flattering to men."
Glee's frown was quick. "Just because I don't flirt and swing my hips like a pendulum to get attention does not mean I don't like men, Señor. My best friend is a man."
"And what kind of friend is it that allows a woman to travel across the continent with only a handful of servants and a snake of a bounty hunter?"
"I'll have you know," she said, her voice sharp, "that I am of an independent mind. I do not need to be allowed to do anything! I'm free to do whatever I want, go wherever I like." She stared at his manacled wrists. "Which is more than you can say, isn't it?"
That stung. He felt his temper rising. "Maldecida, estropeada, enfermo-comportada mujer -"
"Don't talk to me like that! I've told you I'm not fluent in Spanish!"
Alex moved closer until their noses practically touched. "I called you a damned, spoiled, ill-behaved woman! I was about to say, also, that if you were my sister I'd take you over
my knee!"
She sat back on her heels and glared at him. "Then I'm eternally grateful that I'm not your sister, Mister Pacheco! You must be hellish to live with!"
He shrugged and settled back into his place, his quick temper diminishing already. "My wife did not complain."
Glee appeared to take that in and swish it around in her brain for a moment. "You must scare her half to death. Though what kind of a woman would marry-"
He was on his knees with his manacled hands on her arms in the space of a heartbeat. He shook her slightly, his voice a steel flail. "Don't you ever, ever, dare to talk about my wife." Releasing her with a little shove, he sat again and watched her rub her upper arms. "She was a saint. You would not have been fit to kiss her shoes."
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