Rearing up and snorting, his horse demanded his attention, and Faith’s chin hit the ground when he freed her. She was beyond caring what he did to her. Nothing could make her move. Not even the challenge Joseph called out when Delaney appeared moments later. Scraping her cheek against the earth, Faith turned her head and could barely make out his shadow sliding from Mirage’s back.
She didn’t know if he saw her. He was absolutely still. A whisper of sound added to her feeling that Joseph had moved slightly away from her.
“I lied to you,” Delaney murmured. “The woman is mine.” Joseph didn’t answer him. Delaney unbuckled his gunbelt and looped it over the saddle horn. Without taking his eyes from the Indian’s still figure, he began to unbutton his shirt. “I will fight to keep what I claim.” Throwing the shirt over the saddle, he used one hand to flip open the saddlebag and reached inside for his moccasins. “You are a man of honor, Joseph, not to leap on your enemy when he is vulnerable.”
“That way brings shame to a warrior.”
Delaney whispered his agreement and lowered himself to sit and remove his boots, never losing eye contact with the Indian. He slid his supple moccasins on, deftly tying the knee-high boots in place, and came to his feet in one smooth, graceful move. Blood coursed through his body with every breath, every heartbeat, until it flowed with a lethal intensity that he had learned from the Apache warriors.
Joseph drew his knife from its sheath.
Delaney followed suit. “Before we begin, know this. I am sorry for Henry’s death. And I do not wish to kill you.”
“The boy was my brother. First blood will not be enough.”
Delaney nodded. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses, but the outcome was always uncertain. Joseph outweighed him by a good twenty to thirty pounds. Delaney was far too aware that a slip, a wrong move, a too-late twist of the body ended a man’s life. He had to try and protect Faith.
“I will accept a fight to the death. But let the woman take my horse and go.”
A savage cry filled the night. Joseph leapt over Faith’s prone body, ending all talk.
Faith forced herself to crawl out of the way. Feeling was slowly returned to her limbs, and if she believed herself in agony before, she thought she was in hell now. Her body screamed demands to stop moving, sending a wave of blackness in warning of what would happen if she didn’t stop. But the choice was not hers. She was too close to them. The thought that Delaney might trip over her and be hurt sent a fresh surge of energy into her. Huddled against a tree trunk, she could not drag her gaze away from the flash of knives. A thin trickle of light filtered down through the trees, and she strained to see their crouching figures.
The soft rustle of their moccasins finding purchase on the earth was the only sound Faith heard. No curses, no taunting passed their lips, but after a few minutes their breathing grew harsh as they darted and twisted their bodies to avoid the other’s knife. She was too frightened to utter a cry, too frightened for Delaney to think of what would happen to her if he lost.
But Delaney thought about it and knew he had to block thoughts of Faith from his mind. Joseph was a worthy adversary. Delaney knew the Indian’s pride and code would not allow him to accept a wound. He needed all his skill, all his wits, to dodge the Indian’s slashing blade. With every moment Delaney knew he couldn’t let Joseph live, or Joseph would hunt him until he was dead. The clearing was small. Delaney knew Joseph was backing him toward a stand of saplings that would limit his own knife thrusts.
Joseph, like him, held his gaze to Delaney’s. A man’s eyes would give away his moves before he made them. There was a chance to distract the Indian, and Delaney had to take it, allowing him to attack rather than defend.
He lowered his gaze for a fraction of a second, throwing his knife from his right hand to his left. Joseph followed the move with his eyes, giving Delaney the advantage he sought. With a quick twist of his body Delaney leapt and pivoted, his knife slicing Joseph’s arm. His ploy to use a border shift that rarely worked with a gun left Joseph with him at his back. Regret flashed and died. There was no time left. Joseph was turning, and Delaney knew if he didn’t move, he would die. With a brutal thrust he sank his knife deep into the Indian’s lower back, missing the spine. Delaney clamped his free hand over Joseph’s mouth to cut off his cry. No force was going to free his knife quickly, not buried to the hilt. Delaney raised his knee and pushed the man’s body forward, ripping the knife out at the same time. The Indian sagged to his knees, and Delaney ended his life with a clean cut.
“Get his horse,” he ordered Faith without turning. When she didn’t answer him, he repeated his order and heard a soft sob. “Don’t quit on me, duchess. Eli went for help. Mount up and make a run for it.”
“I can’t move,” she whispered, closing her eyes to shut out the sight of what she had witnessed.
Delaney ran to her and lifted her to stand. Shaking her, he demanded, “I didn’t kill him so we’d get caught” He ignored the trembling of her body and shoved her ahead of him. Mirage backed away when she smelled the blood on his body. He whispered softly, and she stilled. Lifting Faith astride the saddle, he placed the reins in her hands, forcing her fingers to close over the leather. “Ride like hell. Let Mirage pick her way, but don’t let her stop.”
“What about you?”
“Hell, duchess, I ain’t no hero. I’ll be dusting your trail so close you’ll feel me up your skirt tail.” With a slap on Mirage’s rump, he sent her off, running to get Joseph’s horse, praying that Eli hadn’t had time to find his way back to their reservation and block the trail.
Curbing his feeling of urgency, Delaney had to soothe the Indian’s horse, who shied from the unfamiliar smell of a strange man. Swinging up onto the horse’s back, he spared a brief thought to having killed Joseph. Pride would not let the Indian be satisfied with less than his death. There really was no choice. But he touched his skystone as he passed the body, whispering words of the man’s bravery to the night sky.
He caught up with Faith at the start of the trail that followed the narrow ledge.
“I can’t do this, Delaney. I can’t ride—”
“Hush, duchess. No talking.” He knew there had to be another way out of the valley, but time was against them. The clouds had thinned, allowing the moonlight to spill over the rock walls. Dismounting, Delaney came to her side and lifted her down. She clung to him, and for a moment he held her tight, wishing he could lie and reassure her. But they were a long way from being safe.
A glance at the ledge reaffirmed his judgment that they had to go out single file, and if she wouldn’t or couldn’t ride, the horses had to be led. With the shivers racking her body, Delaney didn’t believe she had any reserves to call upon.
And he had no time to be gentle.
“If you won’t move to save your own neck, duchess, then do it for Pris and Joey. Eli’s gathering men right now to ride down on them. Our only chance is to get there first.”
“I told you I can’t.”
Delaney pushed her away. “I ain’t got time to pamper you. I’m getting the hell out,” he stated in a cold, flat voice. He took hold of the Indian horse’s rope, knowing that Mirage would follow.
“You’d leave me here?” Disbelief colored her voice. Faith saw him move off onto the ledge. “You unfeeling bastard!”
Delaney kept walking.
Mirage’s rump was almost out of sight, and Faith stood there with her arms wrapped around her waist. She could not walk that ledge. But she couldn’t stay there alone.
She lifted one hand and touched the rock face, her fingers finding the small crevices. If she pressed against the wall, she wouldn’t need to look down and see death waiting. Splaying her fingers wide, she took one hesitant step. How could Delaney leave her? How could she think she loved him?
Anger burned inside her, forcing her to forget the cold, the danger, and her fear. Her cheek was pressed against the rock as she felt with one
foot for safe purchase, found it, and took another step. She would show that arrogant man who had as much feeling as the rock she kicked out of her way that she didn’t need him. With each handhold her fingers found, she became more sure, breathing easier as she rounded the slight curve in the ledge. It couldn’t be much farther. She hoped it wasn’t. And she hoped that Delaney waited at the end for her.
Small stones fell with a clatter into the canyon below. Faith stilled. Tears poured down her face. She was not going to make it. Her fingers froze like claws, and she began to shake.
“Just a few steps more, duchess. You’re almost here,” Delaney whispered, stepping out onto the ledge to ease one hand into his own.
“Don’t touch me. I don’t want your help. I don’t need you.”
He heard the defeat and the terror in her voice and had to close his eyes, refusing to let them sway him. But he refused to release her hand.
“Take the steps. Prove you don’t need my help.”
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“I know, duchess, I know.”
But she took the last few steps to safety.
Delaney jerked her against him and took her mouth for a quick, brutal kiss, only to tear his lips away seconds later. “You’re more woman than you know.” Before she had a chance to utter a sound, he swung her up on Mirage. “We’re gonna make hell’s own ride, duchess. Hang on tight.”
Keith anxiously peered into the dark as he made another patrol around the wagons. He had all in readiness just as Delaney ordered. The sky was paling when he heard his father call out to him. Keith wanted to ignore him. He couldn’t understand what had made his father shoot the Indian boy. And he didn’t want to ask. Somehow he knew he had to make his own choice about where he stood and would stand. It troubled him that his decision would likely put him against his father.
“Any sign of them?” Robert asked as Keith returned to the back of the wagons.
“No.”
“Maybe he won’t find her.”
“Delaney will. And he’ll come back for us, too.”
“Don’t be so sure, Keith. Carmichael’s a—”
“He’s a man that would never shoot—”
“You’d dare judge me?” Becket bellowed, incensed that Keith glared at him. “You didn’t see the way those savages were looking at your sister. Who knows what Carmichael was telling them? I did what I had to do to protect all of us.”
“You killed an unarmed boy! He wasn’t much older than me.”
Robert backhanded Keith across the mouth. “I’m your father. Don’t forget it, boy. You’ll not accuse me, and you don’t sit in judgment of me! Carmichael’s not going to set you against me when you’re still a boy not a man.”
Keith tightened his grip on his rifle until his fingers ached. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not a boy.” He stared at his father as if he were seeing him for the first time—and he didn’t like what he saw. Wiping the blood from his split lip, he spat off to the side, knowing his decision had been made for him. Before he could put it into words, he heard Delaney’s warning shout.
Keith ran past his father and grabbed the canteen from the wagon Faith usually drove. Pris’s and Joey’s faces were barely visible in the paling light of dawn as they huddled near the opening behind the seat.
“Did he bring Faith back?” Joey asked with a tremor in his voice.
“He’s got her. Del wouldn’t come back without her,” Keith answered as he waited for the slowing horses, trying to keep his own fear at bay. Faith was slumped over the horse’s neck as Delaney drew rein on the one he was riding, and Mirage, blowing heavily, walked the last few feet.
Delaney was down and lifting Faith before Keith moved. The wild tangle of her hair fell over his arm and shoulder. Delaney lost any regret he had that he had killed Joseph when he saw the bruises darkening her cheek and chin.
“Is she all right?” Becket demanded as he joined them.
“Keith, give her some water and then get up on the wagon and I’ll hand her up to you. She’s done in.” Delaney saw that her eyes were open, and he longed to soothe her with soft kisses and even softer words, but there was no time.
She sipped from the canteen Keith held to her lips and met her father’s anxious gaze for a moment. She didn’t want to talk to him, much less look at him.
Delaney shifted her weight and handed her up to Keith. “Get her inside. You fill the water barrels?”
“Just like you said. Move out of the way,” Keith ordered the children as he helped Faith inside. “You two take care of her and let her rest.”
“What happened back there?” Becket asked.
“They split up. Eli’s likely gone back to the reservation, and Joseph is dead.” He wiped the sweat from Mirage’s hide with his spare shirt, knowing he was pushing his mare to ask her to carry him on another hard ride. “We’ve got a four-, maybe five-hour lead on them.” He took the canteen from Keith, sipped sparingly, and then poured water into his hat for the mare. “Fill it again and mine, Keith.”
“We’ll head for Tucson,” Becket said.
“No. They’ll expect us to ride directly south—and they’ll be waiting.” Delaney nodded as Keith hooked the canteen over Mirage’s saddle and climbed up on the wagon. He moved toward his horse, but Becket grabbed hold of his arm.
“Hold up. I’ve a right to decide where it’s best for my family.”
“While we stand here jawing, Becket, you’re costing us time. I want to see them safe, too. So let me do what you hired me for.”
Leading Mirage, Delaney went to the back of the wagon. Drawing his knife, he sliced through the rope that held Beula to the wagon. “You’re on your own, brown eyes.”
“You can’t leave our cow!”
“Becket, we’re gonna ride for our lives. She can’t keep up,” he explained impatiently, scanning the land with a narrowed gaze. “Would you rather see her breaking a leg and being shot?” Swinging up onto his mare, Delaney ordered Keith to move out.
“We’re heading east, Becket, before the Pima gather enough men to run against us in relays.”
“You’re always so damn sure,” Robert said resentfully.
“I’d better be. If I’m not, we’ll all be dead, and it won’t matter who’s right.”
Delaney took the lead. Mirage settled into a smooth, ground-eating stride that allowed Delaney to turn his attention to the land coming to life under the rising sun. It was almost an hour later when he spotted the smoke and counted two from the west and an answering one from the far south. He slowed and walked Mirage to cool her, letting Keith catch up with him.
“There’s a shallow gully ahead,” Delaney told him as he walked abreast of the wagon. “Take them down real easy. Sand’s loose and treacherous.” He took note of the tension that marked the boy’s face. “You’re doing real good. How’s Faith?”
“Sleeping.” But his lips formed a grin for Delaney’s praise, and he moved ahead.
Delaney waited for Becket, annoyed that he was steadily falling behind. “What’s wrong?” he asked, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat off his brow before he resettled it with the brim slanted forward.
“I’m not killing my mules on your say-so!”
“Don’t. Look behind you, Becket. Count the smokes. There’s four now. A few minutes ago there were only three. And there’ll be more. Choose. The mules or your life.” With a flick of the reins Mirage turned, and Delaney rode after the other wagon.
Another hour should see them in the forested canyons and mountains where Delaney knew of a hidden valley whose entrance was almost impossible to find unless a man knew it was there. The valley had thick grass and sweet water, but it was more than a place to recover. It was in the Apache’s territory. Delaney drove his mare now, finding the easiest path for the wagons to follow. The Pima would give long and serious thought to entering their enemy’s land to find him.
The hairs on the back of his neck rippled wi
th warning. Delaney slowly lifted his head, searching the rim of the canyon’s mouth before he went farther.
A press of his knees brought Mirage to a standstill. His right hand hovered over his gun in an involuntary reflex. He studied the four mounted silhouettes that appeared above him. For long minutes he watched and waited, knowing he was an open target.
Tension ebbed from his body. Pushing his hat back, Delaney raised his arm and smiled.
Chapter 16
A lone horseman disappeared as the three waited above, watching Delaney. A few minutes later the man rode out from the deep shadows cast by the canyon’s walls.
“Mahtzo,” Delaney called in greeting as the Apache neared. Briefly he explained what had happened and their need to rest for a few days.
Nodding, Mahtzo said, “At the end of the third sun I will come for you. Look no more, Del-a-ney, we will watch.”
“It is good to be home,” Delaney answered, waiting until he rode off before he signaled Keith to follow him.
Four hours later he reached the small hanging valley that opened over an enormous canyon. Tired as Delaney was, he stepped down and unsaddled Mirage, slipping the split-ear bridle from her head and allowing her to run free in the thick green wild grasses of the meadow. Slinging the saddle over his shoulder, he walked slowly, feeling the peace this place held renew his mind, body, and spirit. The dam he had built across the stream now had a fair-sized pond backed up behind it, fed from the spill of cold, sweet water from the limestone ledge at the far side. A stand of young cottonwoods shaded half the pond, but even here, in this hidden valley, he chose to camp away from the water.
Dust-streaked and exhausted, no one had energy to talk as the mules were staked out and a cold supper put together. Faith spoke once to ask if the pond was safe to bathe in, and receiving Delaney’s assurance that it was, although cold, she took herself off. Now, as twilight fell, there was a soft, hushed silence in the valley, and Keith joined Delaney near the dying fire.
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