His Wild Heart
Colleen French
Copyright © 1993, 2018 by Colleen French. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121,
[email protected].
Version 1.0
This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York, under the title Flames of Love and under the name Colleen Faulkner.
Cover by The Killion Group
For Sherri,
who kept the young hounds at bay so I could work.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Prologue
London, England
Fall, 1716
Jon gave a drunken chuckle, shaking his head. "I can't believe you're doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this. We're on a futtering ship to the American Colonies, Geoffry!"
Geoffry Rordan, the Viscount Ashton, leaned on the ship's railing for support and took another swig from the flask he held tightly in his hand. By the light of the full hunter's moon, he could see the outline of the dock as the ship slowly sailed out of its anchorage. "Come on! Where's your sense of adventure? I always wanted to see the colonies. You know that." His elbow brushed against his companion's and he steadied himself. "Every man should see them, and that includes you." He hiccupped. "Father said so himself."
Jon snatched the flask from Geoffry's hand and took a long pull. "But, Christ, I don't think this is what he had in mind. Right now he's up at that house on the hill toasting to your betrothal with the Earl of Monthrop and wondering where the blast you are, prodigal son."
"He'll understand when he reads the letter I left him."
Jon pushed the flask back into Geoffry's hand. "Understand, hell—he's going to be furious!"
"I'm not ready to be weighted down with a wife, a gaggle of children and my father's duties." Geoffry shook his head insistently. "Not yet. I've got too many things left to do, too many things to see."
"Too many young ladies to tumble?"
Geoffry snatched off his periwig and ran his fingers through his short-cropped auburn hair. "I'm afraid that's always been your department." He sighed, swinging his wig on the end of his index finger. "No, I just want to see the Chesapeake Bay, smell those great pine forests, hear the Shawnee chant their songs."
"And what of the chit?" Jon turned around and leaned against the rail, crossing his arms over his chest. "Seems to me she's getting the short end of the staff. She's still up there at the house thinking her betrothed is a little late. What's going to happen to her when you don't show up?"
Geoffry shrugged his broad shoulders, still spinning his wig on his finger. "What could possibly happen to her? No doubt her father will sell her to the next earl's son who comes along." He took a long deep breath of the salty air and sighed, his betrothed easily forgotten. "Ah, freedom. Smell it, Jon?" He let out a whoop of pleasure and sailed his powdered periwig over the ship's side and into the Thames below.
Chapter One
Somewhere west of the Chesapeake Bay
September, 1722
Alexandra closed her eyes as her head drooped. The leather bindings at her wrists and ankles cut into her bruised flesh. She winced each time she shifted her weight to relieve the pins and needles in her bare, swollen feet. Through the tattered remnants of her brocade gown she felt the rough bark of the pine tree against her back.
She swore a foul oath beneath her breath.
How long had she been tied to this tree in the wilderness? Two days, or was it three? She wasn't certain. In the last weeks time had lost all meaning.
Now there was only alive or dead. And she was still alive . . . that was all that mattered to Lady Alexandra Lambert, the Earl of Monthrop's daughter.
Lady Alexandra . . . hah! What good was her father's title and fortune now? So far from London, so far from civilization . . .
"They don't even know I'm here," she whispered hoarsely. "No one knows I'm alive." She licked her dry, cracked lips.
She was so thirsty that she could think of nothing else. When the sun rose high in the sky her captor would bring her water. The maggot-brained red whoreson always did. But she'd been awake for hours and the pale autumn sun had barely moved in the sky.
Alexandra set her jaw and opened her eyes just a crack. She could see the crude log cabin nestled among the red-leafed oaks and white pines. Nothing stirred. Even the red calico headband dangling from the shattered doorframe hung limp in the still morning air.
She twisted her hands bound behind her back for the one-hundredth time in hopes the bonds had miraculously loosened during the night. They hadn't.
She strained to detect any sign of movement around the hovel. No doubt the red savages were still sleeping off their drunk. Last night they had drunk rot-gut whiskey and danced and howled like blood-crazed demons until nearly dawn.
Alexandra let her eyelids drift shut again. How long was that stinking half-breed going to leave her tied to this tree? If Two Crows was going to sell her like he'd said, why hadn't he done so? Just another way to torment her, she supposed. That was the way it had been since he'd kidnapped her nearly a month ago.
Memories of her capture drifted through her head. It had been a delightful day the last week in August that her Uncle Charles had offered to take her and her cousin Susan up the river to see Kristen Landon's new baby. The sunshine had been warm, the breeze off the shore cool and refreshing. She remembered how clear and blue the moving water of the river had been. She remembered the sound of a single songbird, its voice trilling sweetly.
Then the water had turned red . . . red with the blood of Uncle Charles and Susan. The songbird's voice had been silenced by the sound of screaming.
Alexandra opened her eyes. She wasn't going to think about it, not now, because if she did she'd go stark raving mad. What matters is that I'm alive, she thought with determination. I survived the attack and I'll survive to escape.
The cabin door suddenly swung open on its leather hinges and Alexandra closed her eyes, slumping her head to feign sleep. She wanted to draw no attention to herself. Though she was the property of Two Crows, there were at least five other renegade redskins here just like him. After what she'd seen that morning on Uncle Charles's boat, she knew full well she'd not survive a gang rape.
Two Crows had brought her here to sell her. Apparently a deal had already been struck. Her new owner would be coming any day now, someone Two Crows referred to as Cap-i-tan.
The sound of soft footsteps came nearer and she fought the desire to flinch. She could sme
ll the sour sweat of a man's skin and knew it was Two Crows.
He chattered something in his native language, then grunted when she made no response. "A rabbit that hides in the grass, no?" He chuckled as he brushed her cheek with his filthy hand.
Alexandra's eyes snapped open. "Touch me again, heathen, and I'll bite your finger off!"
Two Crows flashed broken black teeth, but took half a step back. Self-consciously, he brushed his fingertips across his blood-encrusted ear.
Alexandra smiled to herself. Didn't think I'd bite your ear off did you? So I didn't bite it off, but I took a good chunk, didn't I? She stared at him in bold challenge.
The half-breed wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and then rubbed his hand on his leather leggings. "This man has no time to teach a white-face woman her place, but the next man," —he shook a finger—"the cap-i-tan will." He laughed at some private joke. "He is known for his way with the women."
"Yes, yes, you've been telling me about this man who's bought me for two days, but I don't see him. I don't see any of the muskets he promised either. Mayhap he's not coming."
The eyes of Two Crows narrowed dangerously. "He comes."
Alexandra knew she was pushing her luck with Two Crows. The man held her life in the palm of his filthy hand. "Free me and I'll pay you double what he's promised," she said carefully. "Free me and I'll get you your muskets. Christ's Bones! I'll get you a gunsmithy to make all the muskets you can carry on your back."
"I have already made the deal!" he barked.
"Afraid to make a better deal?"
Two Crows lashed out with his hand, striking her hard across the mouth. Alexandra winced, but she didn't cry out. To show weakness might mean her death. Two Crows admired her strength; that was what had kept her alive this long. She could feel a trickle of blood run from the corner of her mouth.
She closed her eyes, trying to gain control of the moment. Take care, a voice inside her warned. Push him too far and he'll kill you.
"Speak again," Two Crows spit angrily, "and you will shed more than a drop of blood. Speak again and—"
A sound in the pine woods made the Indian turn away from her in midsentence. Alexandra heard hoofbeats, slow and methodical. Someone was coming.
A moment later two men and a mule appeared through the dense pines. A white man led the way. He was dressed in Indian leggings and a quilled vest, and he had long auburn hair and a wild red beard. Behind him walked an Indian wearing a cocked hat and a red ribbon in his black queue.
Is this who Two Crows had sold me to? Is this the cap-i-tan he spoke of, she wondered. A white man? Surely no white would deal in the buying and selling of human flesh. No decent white man . . .
Two Crows strutted up to the travelers who had stopped near the cabin. The one with the red beard raised a broad hand in a gesture that Alexandra assumed was some sort of peace sign. A tall man with brawny shoulders, he seemed unhindered by the heavy pack he carried on his back.
"Why do you come, Redbeard?" Two Crows demanded.
The redbeard lowered his pack slowly to the ground. "I come to trade." His voice was strong and confident. This sounded like a man who feared no one.
From a distance, Alexandra could see his piercing hazel eyes as his gaze strayed to her, then back to Two Crows. She watched the redbeard as he studied Two Crows from beneath the cover of his long scraggly hair. "And to ask a few questions."
Two Crows grunted. "Trade, yes. Questions?" He sliced the air with his palm. "No questions."
So this isn't the man, Alexandra thought, her heart sinking. He hasn't come to buy me. I'm not to be saved. She looked down at the ground, moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't cried, not a single tear since the morning she'd been captured, but suddenly all seemed lost. He was a scroungy trapper, a man no better than Two Crows no doubt. Why else would he be dealing with men like these?
But then she lifted her gaze.
So what if he's not the man who was supposed to buy me. How do I know who he is or what he's doing here? He's the first white man I've seen in nearly a month. Surely he'll help me. She bit down on her lower lip. Did she chance calling out to him? What would Two Crows do? Strike her? He'd done that already. Kill her? She was willing to take the chance. "Sir, please—"
Two Crows whipped around. "Silence!" he bellowed.
"You've got to help me," she pleaded. Her words tumbled out faster. "This Indian's kidnapped me! He killed my—"
Two Crows whipped his hand to his belt, and before Alexandra realized what was happening, she saw the knife flying end over end toward her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the cold bite of the steel; the pain of death.
The knife struck the tree inches from her neck, making a strange thump, then vibrating in the wood. Alexandra moved her head ever so slightly. The knife had pinned a tangled clump of her dark hair to the wood. She let out a shuddering breath of relief.
"Speak again!" Two Crows dared viciously. "Next time my blade will strike home!"
Hunter glanced at the bedraggled white woman tied to the tree. Damnation, but the chit has guts, he thought. His deliberately uninterested gaze wandered back to the half-breed Iroquois who stank of bear grease. "I've sugar. Tobacco. Some cloth. I'm looking for otter pelts. Prime."
The half-breed nodded, turning his attention from the woman back to Hunter. "The otter have been plentiful this season. Have you whiskey?"
"Some." He watched the woman tied to the tree out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him with round, dark eyes. God in heaven, how long have they had her? he wondered. Not long, else she'd not be alive. He knew what kind of men frequented trading posts like this one. Men outside the law, all laws, both red and white.
Hunter gestured toward the woman. "The female. What's your price for her?"
"Two Crows will not sell the woman. She has already been sold."
Hunter tightened his grip on the musket he held comfortably in one hand. He cast a sideways glance at his companion, Jon. There would be no timely assistance there. His friend was busying himself slapping flies off their mule's rear end. "How much? I'll pay more." Hunter's gaze met that of Two Crows's. "I've a taste for a round-eyed wench. It's been a long time."
Two Crows shook his head emphatically. "No. I do not sell the woman. She is trouble. Too much trouble for you, Redbeard. You want a woman. This man will find you one. What is it you like? Yellow hair? Big breasts?"
"I like this one here."
"Then leave this place before this man grows angry." The half-breed folded his arms across his chest. "I tell you she is not for sale."
In one fluid motion Hunter swung his musket through the air, bringing the muzzle up directly between the legs of the Iroquois. "I said I'll take this one," Hunter mouthed through clenched teeth. "Name a price or I take her without payment."
Two Crows choked. "You cannot—"
Hunter cocked the musket with an ominous click, lifting the barrel just high enough to make Two Crows physically uncomfortable. "Unless you wish to lose your balls, He-Who-Stinks, I suggest you cut your losses and take what is offered!" He kicked the bulky sack resting on the ground.
"I fear you make a mistake," Two Crows murmured, his fingers curled around the barrel in fear. "The cap-i-tan whose woman you steal will be greatly angered. He will track you, take the woman, and kill you."
Hunter offered the barest of a smile beneath the tangles of his red beard. "I'll take that chance. Jon!"
Jon came up behind Hunter. "God's teeth, what is it, Hunter?" He cast a sideways glance at the half-breed, unable to conceal his amusement.
"Cut her loose. Now."
Jon strolled past Two Crows, giving him a wink.
Two Crows attempted to move but Hunter lifted the barrel.
"Take care, Two Crows," Hunter warned, wild-eyed. "Jiggle the musket and the blasted thing might go off. Then you'll be peeling your balls off that cabin door." He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, a silly smile on his lips.
"The woman matters not to me," Two Crows grunted. "I only tell you this in warning." He shrugged carefully. "She's been nothing but trouble. Take her. Use her. But watch your back. I tell the truth when I speak of the cap-i-tan. He is not a man to anger."
Jon reached the woman captive and with two clean slices of his knife, he freed her.
The woman took a step forward and swayed. Jon reached out to give her support but she pushed his hand aside. "I'll be quite all right," she murmured, finding her balance.
"Let's go," Hunter called.
Jon leaned toward her and spoke quietly. "Can you walk on your own? I'd guess Hunter wants us out of here before the rest of the savages come out of that cabin."
She took a deep breath, eyeing him uneasily. "They're all sleeping off a drunk. We'll be safe enough." Confident she had her balance, she walked quickly toward the mule. As she passed Two Crows, she glared at him. "Rot in hell," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the pine forest behind Jon.
Hunter slowly backed off, still keeping his musket aimed at the groin of Two Crows. "I don't have to warn you not to follow us, do I?" He went on without waiting for an answer. "Because if you do follow us, I won't just shoot you. I'll have a little fun with you first. And when you finally are dead, I'll eat your liver!"
Two Crows took a startled step back, throwing up his hands in a sign to ward off evil spirits.
Hunter chuckled as he backed into the cover of the forest and then turned and ran down the game path.
He caught up with Jon and the woman a quarter of a mile through the woods. Before he could open his mouth to inquire as to her well-being she spun around on her heels to face him, tapping a filthy bare foot. "Took you long enough to cut me down," she snapped.
Hunter stopped in midstride, completely taken back. His ire rose immediately, tightening in his chest. Hadn't he just risked his life to save this jade? "What was that?"
"I said you took long enough." She brushed back a lock of tangled hair to show off the curve of her jawline.
The woman was young, and quite attractive with her dark hair, dark eyes, . . . or, she would have been attractive had it not been for the scowl on her face.
His Wild Heart Page 1