“Meeker, sir. Josiah Meeker, trapper.”
Wessells sniffed in derision. “You can bunk down in the infantry barracks. We’re crowded here at present. You’ll just have to make do. Cable here will show you.”
“But, sir. She—” the private stammered.
“Not now, mister. Dismissed,” the captain barked.
Cable shot a curious glance from Aiden to Meeker and back again, his eyes asking a question she hoped he wouldn’t voice. He knew they were supposed to be married, and had tried to say so a couple of times. The short-tempered captain hadn’t allowed it, but sooner or later he might. Considering his temperament, it was better if she waited till he brought it up, if he did. She met Meeker’s gaze head on and hoped he could read her silent thanks.
They started out the door, and Wessells said sharply, “The two of you will join me tonight in officer’s mess where I expect a much more thorough explanation of your presence. Be damned if I’ll stand for anyone helping these savages, if that’s what you’ve been up to. Now, get on out of here and let me work.”
Standing outside on the boardwalk, Meeker studied her. “Well, I reckon there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I’d a rather gone to the agency, but I suppose this place’ll do till the snow melts. You reckon he got away?”
“I hope so. Thank you for...for not saying anything.”
He grinned, revealing brown-stained, crooked teeth within the black beard. “Not my lookout. Got enough to take care of without getting involved in that breed’s affairs.”
Frowning, she glanced quickly in the direction of the young private who’d brought them in. He didn’t seem to be interested in their conversation. He did appear somewhat puzzled as he hailed a passing soldier.
“Take this fellow to infantry quarters and see he gets a cot, if there’s one available.”
The young man took Meeker’s arm. He stared back at Aiden as he was led away. She shuddered down to her toes. What would she do if he found out about her story and came to her to claim his rights? He was a dirty, smelly man who probably hadn’t bathed in years. The idea of his hands on her drove a chill down her backbone.
Private Cable touched the brim of his cap, murmured “Ma’am,” and led her across the compound to her temporary quarters in a row of small residences connected together and fronted by a boardwalk. At the door, he said, “It’s none of my business, but if the gentleman is your husband, then why—”
“You’re right, Private. It’s none of your business.”
He shrugged, touched his hat and left.
Stone Heart lay prone at the top of the bluff keeping a watchful eye on the movement of troops around and about the fort. He had seen A’den and Meeker escorted in and let out a sigh of relief. At least she was safe. Nothing going on down there at the moment hinted at how many of the Cheyenne were still alive, but he surmised they were being held in the same prison quarters as before. Though he stared until his eyes burned, he could make out no activity around the long barracks. Would Wessells continue to starve them and withhold water? He was a cruel man, punishing women and children in such a way, when his enemy should be the warriors. Stone Heart vowed to see that the brutal captain did not live to mistreat anyone else.
He would wait until dark and sneak into the fort. If he could find that coward, he’d put his knife in his heart before going to see what could be arranged for the surviving prisoners. The idea brought a bitter smile. Once he had wanted only to escape this dreadful place, and now he must put himself back in danger of capture by returning. He could see no other way in which to help those remaining in their struggle to return to their homeland. He knew any one of them would rather die than go south to Indian Territory, for he felt the same. He could not guess how many were left alive and what shape they were in. But even if there were only one or two, they must not be left to rot in that hell hole.
He had spent the afternoon scouting out a trail that looked passable if he happened to be a mountain goat, memorized handholds along the perilous descent. A late-rising moon would be both a blessing and a hindrance. He had to decide whether to wait for it to light his way, or get down off the bluffs as best he could in the dark to minimize the chances of being spotted by a lookout. Once in the valley he would approach the fort using the sparse brush for cover. Shivering from the cold, he stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together. At last it was time to go, and he was filled with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
Because of the covering of snow and pale overhead clouds he could distinguish brush and outcroppings along the rim of the bluffs. On his stomach, he inched backward, felt around with his toes for his first footholds and slid into a precarious position that offered only one way out, and that was down. It was tough going. During the day the sun had melted some of the snow along the rock faces, but with darkness and the return of bitter cold, it had begun to freeze back. At times he was sure he would lose his grip and tumble to the bottom. Hands grappling for purchase, feet feeling for the next narrow ledge on which they could perch, he squirmed slowly down, hugging the precipice with his belly like a reptile.
A scrub brush to which he clung with one hand, suddenly uprooted and he was left flailing and kicking with the fingers of his other hand clinging to a jutting rock. His heart hammered so fast he thought he would black out before one of his feet, then the other found purchase. Resting there for a moment, he regained a somewhat normal breathing pattern. His stomach continued to churn, though, as he began his descent again.
At times his feet would reach out into space and find nothing. Frantically searching for handholds, he would lower himself from one to the next using only the sheer strength of his arms. The wound in his side sent jabs of pain that weakened his grasp and several times he almost lost his grip. He had no idea how much time had passed, and that mattered little anyway. All he knew was that the moon rose in the east and found him hanging precariously from one hand and waving a foot around for its next toehold.
Gasping, he found a ledge with both toes and clung to the sheer face to rest a while. Cheek locked against the sheer wall, he dare not shift around to get a look at the fort. What good would it do him anyway? He couldn’t tell if they thought some crazy madman might be hanging from the bluffs and were keeping an eye out for him. Even if they did spot him, he’d probably never know it. One marksman with a buffalo gun could pick him off and he’d hear the shot a mere heartbeat before he fell dead onto the rocks below. Best to not even think about it. Just keep going until something happened.
The moon climbed slowly into the covering of overhead clouds and went out. A piece of luck for him, at least for a while. But then his luck gave out. Under one foot a rock shifted, pebbles rattled down the cliff face and the rock let go. The fingers of both hands slipped loose, clawed air as he fell. He swallowed a natural instinct to cry out and prepared in grim silence to meet a cruel death, dashed to pieces on the rocky bank of the river.
The thought no more than crossed his mind when he landed on both feet and tumbled forward. Surprise and shock washed over him, a sharp agonizing pain shot through the wound in his leg, his side cramped. The stars he saw were not in the sky above, and he thought for a moment he would pass out. He’d only been a little ways off the ground when he fell and the impact had rattled his teeth, but he was alive.
Lying flat on his face, one cheek jabbed by gravel, he heard the sweet song of the river and knew that he had come within an inch of landing on the ice and breaking through. Had he done so, even the short fall might have meant his death. To ease the pounding in his side, he turned over and pulled his knees up to his chest.
For a long while he lay like that, rolled into a ball like a damned porcupine, considering all the reasons he’d been spared and waiting for the throbbing of his wounds to subside. As soon as he could move about without setting off renewed torment, he sat up and checked himself thoroughly for any broken bones or ragged injuries that might cause him trouble later. It was a miracle that he found none.
<
br /> Once sure he had actually come through the fall with only scrapes and bruises, he crawled to his feet and made his way toward the bridge. With the moon behind the clouds, he could cross the river there without getting wet and enduring still more discomfort. He had to make it into the fort before daylight. Where he would hide or how he would free his friends, he had no idea. As for Wessells, that would have to wait. Considering his chances of pulling off such a thing as killing an officer in the midst of a regiment of men and living to carry out his true mission, he decided against it.
****
Aiden reluctantly crawled from the cramped tub of cooling bath water, and stood warming herself beside a small, potbellied stove. Being there made her feel safe and she could hardly contain the euphoria. She was alive, bathed, and warm. A bed awaited her exhausted body. Private Cable had built the fire, sent to her a minuscule amount of bath water, a towel and soap, and told her he would return soon with clothing. He seemed little concerned that his captain had ordered his immediate return.
Obviously he thought better of his decision to return, though, for as she stood before the fire wrapped in a blanket off the bed, there came a tap on the door followed by a woman’s voice. She bade her enter and was greeted with a blast of cold air that accompanied a dark-haired woman with sparkling blue eyes. She carried a folded dress of plain calico wrapped around unmentionables and a pair of soft slippers.
Studying Aiden closely, she lay them on the bed and joined her beside the small stove.
“It’s cold in here,” she said and hugged herself for a moment. “I’m Retha Woods. Private Cable said you needed clothing and decided mine would fit you best.” Her glance swept over Aiden. “He has quite an eye for the ladies, I must say. I brought you a brush and pins as well. You have lovely hair. If you need anything else, please ask.”
For the first time in days, laughter rose in Aiden’s throat, and she studied the woman beside her. Same height, pretty much the same build if Aiden would eat a few good meals, and quite pretty with shiny black hair. Despite tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her glittering eyes, she was probably not yet thirty. Married to a soldier and obviously content. Aiden wondered if she had children.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Woods. You don’t know how I look forward to wearing civilized clothing again. It’s been so long.”
“Retha, please. And I will call you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Aiden Connor. Aiden is fine.”
“You’re not married?”
“Heavens no. Almost, but thank God it didn’t happen.”
“Then who is—”
“The trapper? I’m ashamed to say I lied to Lieutenant Woods. Is he...are you...?”
Retha nodded, mischief lighting her face. “I do hope he was taken in by your lie. That would be delightful.”
“Oh, yes, he was. I couldn’t help it, really. I was frightened and didn’t know how they’d treat me. They were pretty rowdy, well downright mean, if you want to know.” She covered her mouth. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that your...I mean to say...he was decorum itself, but I was pretty ragged. Sometimes men get the wrong idea.”
Retha chuckled. “Lieutenant Woods is always very proper, sometimes too much so. But I don’t blame you one bit. They’re pretty worked up over this Indian uprising when all we really wanted was to provide a safe home for those poor starving people. Several soldiers were killed for their trouble. It’s made them angry and quick to shoot.”
Heat flowed to Aiden’s cheeks. “I understand many of the Cheyenne were also killed, including women and children.”
Retha waved a hand. “War is that way. This Indian business has been a terrible situation all around.”
Aiden’s teeth clacked together.
“Let me leave so you can dress.” The woman’s gaze took in the ratty-looking buffalo coat draped over a chair in the corner. “I’m sorry, I should have brought you a cloak. I’ll leave mine. I have another. I’m told you’ll be joining us at officer’s mess this evening?”
“Yes, but please don’t worry about leaving your cloak. It’s so nice. I don’t need it.”
“Nonsense, of course I’ll leave it. I’ve only a hop, skip, and jump back to our quarters. Shall I call on you to take you to supper?”
“That would be wonderful,” Aiden said, and watched as the friendly woman slipped through the door and was gone. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep, but she slipped into the underthings and calico dress. The clean fabric felt smooth against her bruised and aching body and, as she waited for Retha to return, she realized that she was starving.
****
Dark came early and found Stone Heart hiding in the shadows between the officers’ housing and the mess hall. Mouth-watering aromas came from the place, but he tried to ignore them. Several large crates and empty barrels at the back of the building offered an excellent place from which he could watch the comings and goings and plan his next move.
When he heard the light tinkle of feminine laughter, he peered out to see two women walking arm in arm along the boardwalk from the quarters to the officer’s mess. One had beautiful red hair coiled at the back of her head and she turned to say something to her companion. In the light issuing from the windows he recognized the familiar distinct features immediately. She was a different A’den from the raggedy woman he’d met in the dugout, to be sure, but he would have known her anywhere.
He’d been so right about her.
She was one of the loveliest creatures he’d ever seen.
His heart flip-flopped and he bit his lip to keep from crying out to her. He had no right to complicate her life any further, or his own either, for that matter. But still, he couldn’t help remembering another time and place, when their bodies had entwined in sleep, her light breath fanning his cheek. He’d held her close then, to chase away her terrors, and she’d gotten a hold on his spirit that he couldn’t shake.
But shake it he must.
For he had his own way to go, far from the white world, back into that of the Cheyenne, where he’d vowed to remain forever.
So he embraced in his soul the soft, gentle lilt of her voice and watched with deep sorrow as she passed out of sight.
Chapter Nine
On her way to take supper with Captain Wessells, Aiden walked arm in arm with her new friend, Retha Woods. Though dreading what the captain might have to say regarding her claim to be married to the trapper Meeker, she pushed it to the back of her mind. It was delightful to have another woman to talk to.
“It was so kind of you to lend me your lovely cape. I miss wearing civilized clothes. I can hardly wait to get back home to Saint Louis and my...” She broke off when they stepped from the shelter of the building into a brutal wind that sucked the very words from her mouth. But it wasn’t the gale so much as a feeling that they were being watched that halted her.
“Pleased to do it,” Retha said, and pulled up as well. “What is it?”
Aiden glanced into the dark passageway, frowned. “Nothing, I guess. I thought...no, never mind, I’m just being silly. Let’s go, it’s cold out here.”
But she knew, absolutely, without seeing anything but blackness, that Stone Heart was nearby and watching her. She could almost see those silver eyes darken with distrust at the sight of her in the company of an officer’s wife. Her heartbeat raced, her stomach quivered. Shivering, she snugged the cloak around her bosom and followed Retha through the door into the bright warmth of the officers’ mess.
The delicious odor of cooking meat greeted her and she sucked in a mouth full of flavors. Her stomach stopped quivering and let out a long, low grumble she was sure everyone in the place could hear.
From nearby the familiar figure of Captain Wessells rose, gestured toward them. “Mrs. Woods, bring our guest to the table, would you?” Uncommonly jovial, considering his early demand, he executed a half-bow in their direction and indicated two empty chairs on his right. Meeker was already seated near the foot of a long table adjacent to
the captain’s. A few officers and their wives glanced at the two women. Meeker half-rose and nodded in her direction, with an expression she couldn’t read. What was he up to?
With a gleam in his eye, Wessells held out a hand to her and raked a long, deliberate glance down her full length.
“My, my, can this be the same ragamuffin our Private Cable dragged in here only this morning? Join us, Miss—or is it Mrs.—Connor?”
“Miss Connor, sir,” she repeated and slipped her fingers from his damp grip.
“Well, Miss Conner, please be seated here, next to me.” He pulled out the chair, then went to assist Retha Woods in a like manner.
Aiden studied Wessells, but then was drawn to the beaming Meeker who rose to his feet every bit as regally as Wessells and held out a hand.
“Well, my dear. I’m afraid they’ve found us out,” he drawled. “The captain here is aware of our...uh, marriage, so I guess the cat’s out of the bag. There’s no keeping secrets, is there?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly and pulled her hand from his. At least he’d washed to his wrists, and the grimy face held some evidence of a quick scrub, though dirt remained in the lines around his eyes and mouth.
Beaming at the captain, she seated herself in the chair he held. “I am not married, Captain, not to this gentleman nor any other. There has been a misunderstanding.”
Wessells shot them both a quick, dark look as he seated himself. “I don’t appreciate games, and since I see absolutely no reason for either of you to lie about this, why don’t you explain what’s going on.”
Leaning back, he puffed on a long black cheroot and stared directly at Aiden.
She squirmed under the gaze. This was completely ridiculous, but she couldn’t think how to get out of it now that the lie had taken hold.
“You’ll have to forgive my wife, Captain,” Meeker said and took her hand forcefully so that she couldn’t pull away without making a fool of herself under Wessell’s suspicious eye.
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