He hadn’t called her that in three days, nor spoken in that husky voice, either. He had gone back to calling her “lady”—when he spoke to her at all.
Courtney’s nostrils flared and her eyes sparked.
“Damn you!” she shouted. “You’re not using me again!”
He took another step toward her, and she moved back into the water. She might have gone farther, but he stopped. She glared at him, every line of her body defying him. Then he swore in that other language he often used, and turned and went back toward camp.
She had done it. She’d stood her ground with daring and courage, and she was proud of herself.
Courtney decided not to leave the water just yet, even though she began to shiver. It wasn’t that she was afraid to face Chandos, exactly. She just wanted to give him time to cool his anger. And when she heard a gunshot coming from the direction of their campsite, she didn’t budge. She wasn’t stupid. If he was using such a ploy to make her come running to see what had happened, then he hadn’t cooled off.
Another ten minutes passed before Courtney began to worry. Maybe she’d been wrong. He might have killed a wild animal. Or someone might have shot Chandos. He might be dead!
Courtney rushed out of the water, but she didn’t go running up the slope as she was. She changed her wet underclothes for dry ones, and put on her skirt of beige and white stripes, along with the white silk blouse she had recently repaired. She carried everything else, including her boots, which were still wet from the river crossing. Offering up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t step on anything crawly or poisonous, she hurried to the camp.
She ran until the light from their fire became visible, and then she slowed, cautious. Even so, she nearly tripped over the snake lying in her path. It was long and yellowish red, a copperhead, deadly. It was quite dead, but she cried out anyway.
“What?” Chandos called sharply, and her relief knew no bounds.
She ran until she saw him. He was alive, and he was alone. He was sitting by the fire and… Courtney stopped short, her color draining. Chandos had one boot removed, his pantleg cut open to the knee. Blood was running down the back of his calf, where he was squeezing at an incision. He had been bitten by the snake!
“Why didn’t you call me?” she gasped, horrified that he was trying to treat himself.
“It took you this long to get here after the gunshot. Would you have come if I’d called?”
“If you told me what happened, I would have!”
“Would you have believed me?”
He knew. He knew what she had been thinking! How could he sit there so calmly—no, he had to remain calm, otherwise the poison would spread quicker.
Courtney dropped her things and rushed forward, grabbing Chandos’s bedroll and spreading it out next to him. Her heart was racing.
“Lie down on your belly.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, woman.”
She gasped at the surly tone, then realized he must be in pain. A wide area on his calf had turned violent red. He had his belt strapped tightly a few inches above the bite, which was in the middle of his calf. An inch or so lower and the snake would have bitten Chandos’s boot. What awful luck!
“Have you sucked out most of the poison?”
Chandos’s eyes, brighter than usual, stabbed at her. “Take a close look, woman. If you think I can reach that, you’re crazy.”
Courtney blanched again. “You mean you haven’t even… you should have called me! What you’re doing is only a last resort!”
“You know all about it?” he snapped.
“Yes,” she retorted hotly. “I’ve seen my father treat snakebite. He’s a doctor and— Have you loosened that belt yet? You should, every ten minutes or so. Oh, please, Chandos, lie down, for heaven’s sake. Let me get the poison out before it’s too late!”
He stared at her for so long, she almost thought he would refuse. But he shrugged and lay down on the bedroll.
“The cut is good,” he told her, his voice getting weaker. “I could see to do that. I just couldn’t reach it with my mouth.”
“Do you feel anything besides the pain? Any weakness yet? Or nausea? Do you see clearly?”
“Who did you say was the doctor?”
She was relieved that he still had his wry humor. “It would help if you would answer the questions, Chandos. I need to know if the poison went directly into your bloodstream or not.”
“None of the aforementioned complaints, lady,” he said with a sigh.
“Well, that’s something, anyway, considering how much time has passed.”
But somehow Courtney wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. If he were feeling weak, it would be just like him not to admit it.
She positioned herself by his calf and went to work, feeling no squeamishness about what she had to do—it had to be done. But she was terrified because of the amount of time that had passed.
Chandos remained perfectly still while she worked on him, except to tell her at one point to get her hand off his goddamn leg. Courtney didn’t pause from her steady sucking and spitting, but she blushed furiously and was careful not to place her hand so high on his leg again. She would fume about that later, she told herself. Why, the man’s lust couldn’t be controlled even when he was suffering!
She worked on him for an hour, until she simply couldn’t do it anymore. Her lips were numb, and her cheeks ached painfully. The wound was no longer bleeding on its own, but it was an angry red, and terribly swollen. She wished she had some kind of drawing salve to put on it. For that matter, she wished she knew anything about medicinal plants, for there might be something along the river or in the forest that would help draw out the poison or relieve the swelling. But she didn’t know what to look for.
She fetched water from the river and applied a cold, wet cloth to the wound. And every ten minutes she continued to loosen the belt that was restricting Chandos’s blood flow, leaving it off for a minute, then tightening it again.
She didn’t relax for a moment. When she finally got around to asking how he was feeling, it was too late for an answer. He had lost consciousness, and panic began to overwhelm Courtney.
Chapter 24
“CUT my hair, old man, and I’ll kill you!” Courtney had heard him say that before, that and so many other things that, altogether, painted a sad picture of Chandos’s life. He was talking in his sleep and running a fever.
At some time during the night she had fallen asleep, though not for long. She had leaned her head on the back of Chandos’s legs, and the next thing she knew, Chandos was shouting at something in his mind, saying he couldn’t die until they were all dead. She tried to wake him, but he pushed her away.
“Goddammit, Calida, leave me alone,” Chandos growled. “Go crawl into Mario’s bed. I’m tired.”
After that, she didn’t try to wake him again. She changed his cold compress once more, and listened to his rambling as he relived gun-fights, a beating, and encounters with the one he called “old man.” And there were women he spoke to—Meara, respectfully, and White Wing, gently admonishingly. There was such a change in his voice when he talked to them that she knew he cared for them a great deal.
White Wing wasn’t the only Indian name he mentioned, either. There were several others, and one he repeatedly called “friend.” He even defended the Comanche man to the “old man,” defending with such passion that suddenly Courtney remembered that Chandos had never answered the question when she’d asked if he was part Indian or not.
She hadn’t given it much thought before, but it was possible. She realized that the strange-sounding language he sometimes used might be an Indian dialect.
Surprisingly, it didn’t disturb her. Indian or not, he was still Chandos.
When rose streaks of dawn heralded the morning, Courtney began to have serious doubts about Chandos’s recovery. She was exhausted. She didn’t know what more she could do for him. His wound was just as ugly as it had been last night, and the swell
ing had barely lessened. He was still running a fever, and his pain seemed worse, but he groaned and thrashed about so weakly that it seemed he had no strength left.
“Ah, God, he broke her arms so she couldn’t fight him… Goddamn bastard… only a child. Dead, they’re all dead.” His ramblings were whispered now, as if he barely had the strength to speak. “Break the link… cateyes.”
She sat up, staring. It was the first time he had mentioned her.
“Chandos?”
“Can’t forget… not my woman.”
His difficulty breathing terrified Courtney more than anything else. And when he wouldn’t wake up when she shook him, she began to cry.
“Chandos, please!”
“Goddamn virgin… no good.”
Courtney didn’t want to hear what he thought of her. She couldn’t bear it. But what he had already said hurt, and she took refuge in her anger.
“Wake up, damn you, so you can hear me! I hate you, and I’ll tell you so just as soon as you wake up! You’re cruel and heartless, and I don’t know why I’ve wasted a whole night trying to save you. Wake up!”
Courtney pounded on his back, then sat back, shocked and appalled. She had hit an unconscious man!
“Oh, God, Chandos, I’m sorry!” she cried, rubbing his back where she had struck him. “Please don’t die. I won’t be angry with you anymore, no matter how despicable you are. And—and if you get well, I promise I’ll never desire you again.”
“Liar.”
Courtney nearly choked. His eyes were still closed.
“You’re detestable!” she hissed, getting to her feet.
Chandos rolled slowly onto his side and looked up at her.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
“Why? You know why!” And then she said irrelevantly, “And I’m not a goddamn virgin, not now, am I?”
“Did I say you were?”
“About five minutes ago.”
“Shit, was I talking in my sleep?”
“Abundantly,” she said, sneering, then twirled around and stalked away.
“You can’t take seriously what a man says in his sleep, cateyes,” he called. “And to set things straight, I haven’t thought of you as a goddamn virgin for a while now.”
“Go to hell!” she tossed over her shoulder and kept walking.
But Courtney went no farther than the dead snake. Beside it lay a leather drawstring pouch that she knew very well hadn’t been there last night.
A cold chill moved down her spin, and she took a quick, furtive look around the area, but there were so many plants and bushes and trees that anyone could stay hidden.
She stared at the pouch, afraid to touch it. It was finely made, of buckskin, about double the size of her fist. There was something in it, for it bulged.
If someone had come by their camp at some point in the night while she was tending Chandos, why wouldn’t she have seen him, or sensed his presence? And why hadn’t the person declared his presence? Could someone have just accidentally dropped it? Even so, they’d have seen the campfire and come forward… unless they didn’t want to be seen.
It gave Courtney a creepy feeling to know that someone had been there sometime in the night, and had probably watched her while she was unaware of it. But who? And why leave the pouch?
She picked it up carefully by the drawstring, holding it away from her body as she returned to camp. Chandos was where she had left him, lying on his side, and she reminded herself that he wasn’t really better, only awake. Dear God, the things she had said to him when he was weak and suffering! What was becoming of her?
“That doesn’t look like it bites, cateyes.”
“What?” she asked, slowly approaching him.
“The pouch. You’re holding it so far away from you,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Here.” Courtney dropped it in front of him. “I’d rather not open it myself. I found it beside your dead snake.”
“Don’t mention that goddamn viper to me,” he said furiously. “I wish to hell I could kill it again.”
“I imagine you do,” she sympathized. Then she lowered her gaze. “I—I’m sorry I blew up like that, Chandos. There’s no excuse for some of the things I said to you.”
“Forget it,” he replied, his attention on the pouch. He opened it. “Bless him!” he cried as he pulled out a drooping plant. The roots were still attached.
“What is it?”
“Snakeweed. Could I ever have used this last night! But better now than none at all.”
“Snakeweed?” she said doubtfully.
“You crush it, mix some salt with the extracted juice, and put it on the bite. It’s one of the better cures for snakebite.” He held it out to her. “Would you?”
Courtney took the plant from him. “You know who left it, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
He returned her stare for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “A friend of mine.”
Her eyes widened. “But why couldn’t this ”friend‘ come forward and give me the plant? He could’ve told me what to do with it.“
Chandos sighed. “He couldn’t tell you what to do with it. He doesn’t speak English. And if he had come forward, you probably would have run away.”
“He’s an Indian?” It wasn’t really a question, because she somehow knew their visitor had been an Indian. “Leaping Wolf, by any chance?”
Chandos frowned. “I really did do some talking, didn’t I?”
“You held conversations with many different people. Do you always talk in your sleep?”
“How the hell should I know?”
The sharp retort turned her away. She prepared the snakeweed, then came back to him. “You want to turn back on your stomach, please?”
“No. Give me that stuff.”
“I’ll do it!” Avoiding his reach, she moved around behind him, saying, “You did enough damage by trying to treat yourself last night— unnecessarily, I might add.”
“I didn’t ask for your goddamn help.”
“You would rather have died than have my help, I suppose?” she retorted.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything else.
Courtney was stung. After all she’d done, he might have been a little appreciative. But he obviously didn’t give a damn. And he didn’t like having to accept her help.
“Is your friend still out there, Chandos?”
“You want to meet him?”
“No.”
He sighed tiredly. “He wouldn’t be nearby now, if that’s what you’re worried about. But he’ll probably show up again to see if I’ve recovered. You won’t see him, though, cateyes. He knows you frighten easily.”
“I do not,” she replied stonily. “How does he know?”
“I told him.”
“When?”
“What the hell difference does it make?”
“None.” She finished with his leg and came back around to face him. “I would just like to know why he’s following us. That was him I saw that time, wasn’t it? How many other nights has he sneaked—” Her eyes widened as she realized the possibilities.
“He wasn’t around that night, cateyes,” Chandos said softly, knowing her thoughts. “And he’s not following us. We… happen to be going in the same direction.”
“But you would be riding with him if I weren’t here, wouldn’t you? Yes, of course you would. No wonder you didn’t want to bring me along.”
His brows drew together. “I told you the reason I wanted to leave you behind.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” she replied frostily. “But you’ll have to forgive me if I no longer believe half the things you told me the other night.”
Instead of reassuring her—as she’d hoped he would—Chandos said nothing. She was torn between screaming at him and crying. She did neither, however. She squared her shoulders and walked away.
“I’m going to th
e river to wash up. If I’m not back in a few minutes, you’ll know I’ve run into your friend and fainted dead away.”
Chapter 25
CHANDOS watched Courtney as she reheated the broth she’d been forcing on him all day. The late afternoon sun played with her hair, streaking the thick brown tresses with golden lights. He didn’t think he could ever get enough of watching her. And he was finding he was a glutton for punishment where she was concerned.
He had played her a bad turn, his cateyes, and she was going to make him suffer for it. But he couldn’t have done anything differently. She was not for him. If she’d known all there was to know about him, she’d have realized that. If she found out everything, he told himself, she would look at him with fear in her eyes.
What he saw in her now was fire, fire and the anger of a scorned woman. Now, if only her anger would stop feeding his male pride. But there was no getting around it—he was pleased by her reaction. He would have been terribly hurt if she’d accepted his pretended indifference. But he discovered that ignoring her made her furious, and that delighted him.
He hadn’t wanted to steal her innocence. He had tried his damnedest not to. But having lost that battle with himself, having made her his for that one incredible night, he’d believed his burning craving was satisfied. Well, he’d learned better. He’d only had to see her taking a bath in the river and his resolves were forgotten.
He was almost grateful to the snake for putting an end to his madness, for he’d surely have made love to Courtney again last night if he’d been able to. And that would be no good. It was going to be difficult enough to part with her as it was. Any further involvement would only make it worse.
She didn’t realize that yet, of course. She was in the grip of her first passion, and she was thoroughly vexed with him. She thought he had used her. He sighed. It was better she thought so. It would be even better if she hated him.
The truth was, if he thought for one minute that he could make her happy, he would never let her go. But what kind of life could he offer her? He’d made his decision four years ago to forsake the white world and return to the Comanche way of life. Fifteen evil men had changed that life forever, and when it was all over, what would be left for him? He had roamed so long he didn’t think he could settle anywhere, not even with the Comanche people. Could a white woman accept a life like that? Could his cateyes? He knew he couldn’t ask her to.
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