So he forced his mind onto a different trail and glanced at Mercy. “I have not seen Rufus or heard word of him spoken. Was he taken along with you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I assumed he was killed, like Matthew.”
He grunted. “There was no evidence. His body was not there. These warriors would have had no reason to haul him off and kill him elsewhere.”
“You think he is still alive?”
“Hard to say. But Lord knows the man was ever good at hiding.”
He shoved aside the door flap to the shelter and allowed Mercy to pass. Once he stepped inside, his body yearned to stretch out on one of the furs lining the pallets on either side of the wall. Instead, he strode over to where he’d left his few belongings and reached for his shirt—then gasped. Pain seared like a branding iron.
Mercy’s light step caught up behind him, her soft voice a soothing balm. “Let me bandage that chest of yours.”
Despite the cold sweat dotting his brow, heat ignited a fire in his belly at the thought of her warm fingers tending to his bare skin. “I can manage,” he ground out.
“Not easily.”
He blew out a breath. It would take him longer to bind up his wound on his own. And time was scarce.
He turned. “Fine. But I will be tending to that wound on your shoulder as soon as you are finished. Ah-ah!” He wagged his finger at the pert angle of her chin. “Do not tell me that injury is not festering something fierce.”
Furrows marred her brow as she frowned, yet she snapped into action. Low light from an untended fire at the center of the shelter grew as she lobbed wood onto it from a pile dumped near the door. He sank onto the hardened dirt next to the flames, shivers creeping over the bare skin of his back. He always felt this way after a fight, all jittery and sharp-edged.
Mercy lugged over a skin of water, set it at his side, then said, “Close your eyes.”
What the devil did she have in mind? “Why?”
“I believe you asked me to trust you once. I expect the same courtesy.”
How was he to argue with that? He closed his eyes.
A bit of rustling ensued, then the distinct sound of ripping fabric. A smile twitched his lips. Of course. She aimed to bandage him up good with the cloth of her petticoat.
“I am finished.”
His eyes barely opened when cold water doused him from overhead, shocking and nipping all at once. “Sweet mercy! A little warning would be nice.”
“What did you think? That I would bind up a dirty wound?” She clicked her tongue like a mother. “Arms up, please.”
He complied, and while she worked to wrap the torn strips of fabric tight against his torn skin, he wondered at her complete ease with the interior of a warrior longhouse and a half-naked man to tend to. But then again, perhaps she truly had grown up in a home such as this.
“Why did you not tell me Black-Fox-Running was your father?” he pondered aloud.
“My past is of no account.”
He grabbed her hand as it crossed to the front of his chest and pulled her close. “Everything about you is of account, leastwise to me. Surely you know that by now.”
She stared, long and hard, and for some odd reason, tears glistened watery and bright in the firelight. What on earth was she thinking?
She pulled away without a word and went back to wrapping the binding around his chest. The woman was a mystery. A glorious, beautiful mystery.
“And your mother? Let me guess—” He grunted as she yanked the cloth tight at his back. “Was she the daughter of some high-ranking official?”
“Nay, my mother was nothing special save for her claim of her forefathers being the first to settle at Plimouth.” Mercy’s words kept time to the deft movement of her fingers. “Even so, I am of late coming to view her strength and courage as rivaling that of my father.”
She retrieved his shirt and held it out. “As long as you don’t go challenging any more warriors, that should hold.”
“No more challenging.” He grabbed the shirt and eased it over his head, then stood. “But we do have some traveling. We leave as soon as I tend to that shoulder of yours.”
“Turn your back, and I will tend it myself.”
“But—”
His rebuttal died a fast death from her murderous scowl. Perhaps it was better for her to tend to such a flesh-baring task. He crossed back to where his hunting frock, his belt, his newly acquired knife, and Mercy’s blade lay on a fur.
“Why do we leave in the dark of night? It is not safe.” The sound of fabric rustled, followed by water trickling off skin—and he nearly turned around when she sucked in an audible breath.
So, he had been right. That wound of hers did hurt something fierce. Blast the man who’d hurt her!
“Elias?”
He jammed his arms into the sleeves of his hunting frock more forcefully than necessary. “We need to make it back to the gold before Red Bear’s pack of warriors.”
She sucked in another gasp, then blew out a long breath. The sound of her pain twisted his gut.
“Why would they return to naught but empty wagons? They couldn’t know…” This time the air rushing into her mouth was a threat. “You told them!”
He buckled his belt and snugged the hunting knife at his waist, glad to finally have a weapon, especially with the venom in Mercy’s voice. “I promised them the gold. And I am no traitor, if that is what you are thinking. It was the price for your freedom.”
“Why did you not simply kill that man?”
At the sound of her next sharp intake, he wondered that very thing. The man should’ve paid for his rough handling of Mercy. And he would one day, unless God’s grace saved him from the same darkness he himself used to wallow in.
His finger traced the hilt of the knife at his side. “It is God’s place to take a life, not mine.”
More water trickled, followed by a long silence. Finally, she murmured, “You are a complicated man, Elias Dubois. Oh, and you can turn around now.”
“You are quite the tangle yourself.” He snatched up her knife and strode back to her. A worn piece of petticoat peeked out from the rip on her shoulder, her wound as freshly bound as his. She’d endured it all with but a few gasps. What kind of woman did that?
The kind of woman I want.
He planted his feet wide to keep from staggering. The realization hit him harder than the beating he’d just taken. He wanted this woman so much the yearning ached, warm and pulsing, in his soul.
“Mercy, I—” He what? He pressed his lips shut. This was mad. Heaven help him, now was definitely not the time for love. It wouldn’t be fair to her for him to spout feelings he couldn’t back up with action. Lord knew if they would even make it out of this mess alive.
He shoved down the words he wanted to say and instead held out her knife in an open palm. “I found your knife.”
Her gaze shot from the blade to him, admiration shining vividly in her brown eyes—a look he’d never tire of if he lived to be an old, old man.
“You never stop surprising me, Shadow Walker.” This time his name was a purr instead of an indictment.
And he liked it.
She reached for the knife, her slim fingers brushing against his skin, leaving a trail of wildfire.
Oh, hang it all. He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her to him. His heart beat a drum against his chest, eclipsing the pain of battle.
She came willingly and lifted her face to his. “It was no small thing what you did for me, but you have yet to tell me why.” Her gaze bored deep into his. “Why did you not just run away to freedom?”
Mercy held her breath, hoping for…what? That Elias would speak words of love here in the middle of a Wyandot war camp? Was that what she wanted? Though she did her best to ignore the obvious answer, a charge of warmth shot through her from head to toe.
She did. More than anything. She wanted to belong to the scruff-faced man staring at her with impossibly blue eyes and a
mouth she’d tasted sweet and strong.
And that scared her more than a raging war party of warriors.
“Running off was never a choice for me, Mercy. I knew what they would do with you.” A storm of anger and restraint clenched his jaw. Then, just like that, the squall passed. The sharp lines on his brow bowed into a grief so great, the weight of it pressed down on her.
He swallowed, his throat bobbing, and his voice came out husky despite the action. “I could not let that happen. Not to you.”
The intensity in his gaze reached out, pulling her closer. Without thinking, she rose to her toes and brushed her lips lightly against his bruised cheek, the rasp of his whiskers a powerful reminder of his manliness. A tremor shook through him, through her, through the heavens themselves.
“There is much honor in you, Elias Dubois,” she whispered against his skin. “More than I credited.”
For a moment, he leaned into her touch, sharing his warmth and strength; then he pulled back, releasing his hold of her. “We need to leave. Find what food you can. I will see to finding some weapons.”
He turned and strode to rummage through some Indian’s belongings…and the loss of his touch was staggering.
But of course he was right. If they were to retrieve the gold with any hope of keeping ahead of a pack of angry warriors, every minute now counted a hundredfold. She joined him in ransacking warriors’ belongings for strips of jerky or handfuls of pemmican. Not much was on hand, but she found enough that they would have something to eat along the way.
Wood snapping turned her around. Behind her Elias broke arrows, shaft after shaft…which gave her an idea. She reached for a nearby bow and, yanking out her knife, slit the string in two. They fell into a destructive cadence, him snapping, her slicing.
“What is your plan?” she asked while they worked, hoping to somehow ask for Livvy to be incorporated into whatever scheme he had in mind. She couldn’t leave the girl behind, especially when the warriors discovered their duplicity. Livvy would bear the brunt of their anger, maybe even suffer a revenge killing. A shiver snaked across her shoulders. She wouldn’t wish that death on anyone.
Elias finished the last of the arrows, then faced her. “We get the girl, then the horses—”
“You know of Livvy?” Her brows shot to her hat brim, and it was a fight to keep from gaping. Did the man read minds as well as walk invisible? Her admiration for him grew, blocking out all her reasons as to why she shouldn’t trust him.
“Red Bear mentioned another captive besides you.” He flashed a smile. “But I’m not promising it will be an easy endeavor. Are you ready for this?”
She slit the last bowstring and dropped the useless bow, then slung a pouch of food over her shoulder. “I am now.”
He led her to the back door and nudged the flap aside. Leaning out, he glanced left to right, then turned to her. “Stay low. We will work our way to the girl, and I shall keep watch while you cut a small flap in the back of the hut, taking out any who chance your way. Keep the girl quiet and make for the woods. I will double back for the horses and meet up with you.”
Reaching out, he brushed back a rogue coil of hair hanging in her eyes, his fingers lingering against the skin of her brow. Then he disappeared out the door.
She followed, crouching low, trying hard to mimic his moves. It was a risky thing, this escape. Deadly. Her step nearly faltered with the impossibility of what they were about to undertake…but had not God kept her safe thus far? A foreign yet welcome surge of faith urged her onward.
Elias moved ahead, stationing himself at the edge of the trees, twenty paces or so from the rear of the hut. The distance was a gaping flatland, making anyone who crossed it a target to be shot. But it gave Elias a wide enough view to spot trouble should any arise.
Dropping to all fours, Mercy crept through weeds and shin-high grasses. She stopped inches away from the bark wall and listened hard. A song chanted on the night air. A few whoops. Some laughter and a holler. It seemed all entertained themselves at the fire—hopefully.
She pulled out her knife and started cutting. Ripping, really. The noise of the blade tearing into dried linden bark scratched a dead giveaway of her location. What Livvy could be thinking was anyone’s guess.
Eventually she tore enough off to yank away a big square of bark. “Livvy?” she whispered.
Wide eyes peeked out of the darkness. Livvy opened her mouth, and Mercy shot her fingers to the girl’s lips, then beckoned with the same finger for the girl to crawl out.
Livvy’s shoulders wedged in the small space—too small for her to fit through. Mercy motioned for the girl to retreat, then stabbed her knife in again, sawing a larger hole. Her blade stuck once, and in that moment of silence, a terrifying sound crept closer from the front of the hut.
Footsteps.
She froze. What to do? She’d never make it to the safety of Elias’s side before being seen.
Shallow breaths. Shallow. Anything more and the wound on Elias’s chest stabbed sharply. It was difficult to maintain the rhythm though, as he squinted in the dark, concentrating hard on why Mercy might’ve stopped working.
He scanned the area—and his breath stopped completely. A black man-shape strode away from the fire, ghoulish light outlining his broad shoulders and determined step. And each step brought the beast closer to where Mercy lay low at the back of the holding hut. If she ripped off one more piece of that bark, he’d hear.
For the hundredth time this never-ending night, Elias prayed. Lord, have mercy.
Then he slipped the knife from his side and crept forward.
And while You’re at it, forgive me, Lord, for what I am about to do.
A hacking cough filled the night air, adding to the ambient noise from warriors who’d swigged too much rotgut. What on earth? The cough issued from inside the hut…didn’t it?
Elias paused and cocked his head. The coughing barked louder.
The man stopped, his head angling too.
Mercy yanked off another piece of the shelter with the next spate of hacking. The black hole gaped larger, and she dove in.
“Quiet!” The girl couldn’t possibly know what the man said, but the threat of his tone was enough.
And as soon as the bark chunks appeared from inside the hut and blocked—mostly—the hole in the back, the coughing stopped.
Elias’s lips curved. The girl just might be an asset instead of a hindrance.
But the small smile vanished as the man stalked ahead and rounded the side of the hut. Had he heard something other than the coughing?
The man planted his feet directly in front of the hole. He didn’t crouch to study it though, but faced the woods instead of the hut.
Even so, Elias dropped to his belly, fighting a gasp from the pain, and skulked ahead, inch by inch. Would he have enough time to drop the man before he could yell an alarm?
A new sound stopped him once again. Liquid hitting grass, sprinkling in a stream. Elias loosened his fingers from the death grip on his knife hilt, waited until the man finished relieving himself, then tucked the blade away. Apparently far too much drink was flowing this night.
As soon as the man’s footsteps faded, Elias crawled back to the safety of the trees, with Mercy and the girl not far behind. When they caught up, he jerked his head for Mercy to follow, her face pale in the darkness. Would that he could gather her in his arms and hold her until her trembling stopped. But no time. Would there ever be enough time?
He glanced at the girl, head even with Mercy’s shoulder, blond hair a beacon. Surely he must look as frightening as one of the Wyandot warriors here in the dark, but she made no noise, not even a whimper. Brave girl.
Wheeling about, he led them from shadow to shadow, flinching every time the girl cracked a stick beneath her step. Not often, but enough that should another native venture aside to relieve himself, their movement would be detected…unless by now everyone’s senses were skewed. One could hope.
And he did.
A quarter mile later, he spied an upturned hemlock, roots and dirt ripped up to form a chest-high wall. With a sweep of his arm, he ushered Mercy and the girl to shelter behind it.
He crouched in front of Mercy, whispering low. “I need one of your petticoats.”
The whites of two pairs of eyes shone bright in the dark.
“What?” Mercy breathed.
But now was not the time to explain. “You heard me.” He held out his hand.
Turning her back to him, she shimmied a bit and worked loose her under petticoat, then handed over the ragged bit of fabric. The girl shrank back, eyeing them both.
He winked at Mercy. “I owe you one.”
Then he ripped the cloth into long strips and set off to locate the horses. It wasn’t hard. The smell of horseflesh drew him and any other predator. Hopefully not many men guarded the animals.
He slowed as he came upon a small clearing on the north side of camp. Setting down the pile of bindings, he pulled his knife and melded against the shadows, traveling the perimeter. Only four horses dotted the area. What had happened to the other four? Not that he minded, as it made his task easier, but it made no sense they had left behind the others. Something about this wasn’t right—but with Mercy and Livvy waiting on him, he’d have to puzzle over the mystery later.
Near as he could tell, only one brave kept watch—or should have been. The man hunkered down, his back against a heap of bridles and a piece of meat in both hands. His teeth ripped and his lips smacked.
Elias glanced heavenward, grateful once again that a God so big deigned to answer the prayers of a man like him.
He retrieved the bindings, then crept behind the man while he was still busy eating. A quick crack to his head knocked him sideways. As Elias bound and gagged him, he couldn’t help but wonder how many more skulls he’d be required to smack this night.
Weary beyond measure, he rose and began loosing horses. He slapped two on the rump, driving them out in different directions into the night. The other two he bridled and led in a circuitous route back to Mercy and the girl. With any luck, the scouts would be confused, especially with the other two horses running who knew where.
The Captured Bride Page 21