His Wild Heart

by Colleen French

  "I thought for a minute you were going to trade your stinking skins with the red son of a bitch and then walk off leaving me still tied to that tree!"

  Jon threw back his head letting out a howl of laughter.

  Hunter just stood there for a moment staring at the ungrateful woman. Christ's bones! She chattered like a magpie. Hunter hated useless chatter. Useless chatter was just one of the things that had driven him from London. Useless chatter and snippy women . . . He leaned on his musket. "Have you a name?"

  She dropped one hand to her hip. "Of course I have a name! Everyone has a name, don't they? But I beg to ask what your name is. After all—"

  "Hunter."

  "Hunter? What kind of name is that?"

  "It is the name given to me by the Shawnee. Now if you would be so kind," he went on impatiently, "who the hell are you and what are you doing tied to a tree at a trading post fifty miles from the bay?"

  "What? You think I came here on my own? You think I got up one morning, leaped out of my feather tick, drank my tea, and then said to myself, I think I'll walk out to that Indian trading post and let some filthy, stinking redskin tie me to a tree and sell me to the first man that comes along? Are you addlepated? I was kidnapped, for holy God's sake!"

  "And your name, kidnapped one?"

  She hesitated for just an instant—"I'm Alexandra. That's all you need know."

  Hunter brushed by her, grabbing the mule's lead line from Jon's hand. "Well, Alexandra, either shut your ungrateful mouth and come along, or I'll be the one tying you to a blasted tree!"

  Chapter Two

  Alexandra concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. She had to keep up or he'd leave her behind. And she had to keep quiet, or else he'd tie her to a tree to be certain Two Crows found her. Or at least that was what he said.

  Alexandra wrapped her arms around her waist for warmth. The sun had risen high in the September sky and now was beginning to sink below the treetops in a blaze of orange light. It had grown cool and damp in the forest as night set in . . . and still they walked.

  Alexandra lifted her gaze until it settled on the broad back of the redheaded trapper. The son of a misbegotten whore! If he knew who she was, he'd not treat her like this. Of course if he knew who she was, he might try to hold her for ransom. Men like him would go to any lengths to extort money from a nobleman like her father. But Alexandra was too clever for his sort. She'd known better than to give him her name or her true identity. It was best to let him think her a lady's maid, or some yeoman's daughter, she had reasoned.

  But whether she was a chamberpot maid or the Queen of England, she was still a female and no woman deserved to be treated the way this man Hunter was treating her. He had ignored her pleas of exhaustion, thirst, and hunger. He'd insisted they must keep moving, and when she'd protested, he'd rudely informed her that if she didn't keep her mouth shut, he'd shut it for her.

  At least Hunter's Indian companion, Jon, had given her a drink of honey-water from a skin, and a pair of moccasins for her bare feet. He'd been kind. He'd asked her how long Two Crows had held her captive and whether or not she was injured. But he'd also made it clear that the redheaded trapper was in charge and if he said they had to keep walking, walk they would.

  Alexandra blinked several times to clear the cobwebs in her mind. She was so tired she couldn't think. And she was just a little bit afraid. Had she been rescued from lawless savages by a man just as dangerous? Could she trust this madman, Hunter, to see her back safely to Annapolis? Or had she made a mistake in coming with him?

  She nearly laughed out loud. What other choice had there been? She could have come with these two or been sold to some soldier who apparently bought white women from Two Crows on a regular basis.

  "Not much farther and we'll stop for the night," Jon called over his shoulder. He walked beside the mule, patting it. "There's a small stream up ahead. You can bathe if you like."

  Alexandra glanced up. "Bathe?" She pushed back a chunk of tangled, dirty hair. "If you two gentlemen think I'm going to strip my clothes off for you, you're crazier than a pair of bedlamites! Just because you gave me a little assistance back there does not entitle you to my virtue."

  Jon cracked a smile. "It's good to see the savages didn't break your spirit." There was a tone of wry amusement in his voice. "A lesser woman would surely have faltered in such circumstances. But let me assure you, we have no intention on your virtue." He lifted a dark eyebrow suggestively. "Unless, of course, you offer."

  Choosing to ignore his indecency, she lengthened her stride to catch up with him. Having someone to talk to would make the time go quicker, even if that someone was just another redskin. "Savages? You call them savages? No offense intended, but aren't you a redskin?"

  Jon came to a halt, turning to face her.

  Hunter walked on, leading the mule, ignoring Jon and Alexandra.

  Jon lifted a red suntanned arm to study it and then glanced up at her as if in shock. "Egad! Fancy that!" he cried dramatically. "I am a redskin!"

  She couldn't resist a chuckle at his antics.

  He shook his head, looking up at her. "And all these years I thought myself to be an English gentleman!" He hollered in Hunter's direction, swinging his fist. "God's teeth, why the hell didn't you tell me I was an Indian, Hunter?"

  When his companion kept walking, Jon turned back to her.

  She stared at him for a long moment. "Well, you do appear to be a savage, but I must have to admit, you don't sound like one." She studied him speculatively. "You're obviously educated. How is it that—"

  "Don't let me interrupt your pleasant conversation," Hunter called back to them. "But let me remind you, Jon, your scalp will lift just as easily as mine."

  Jon frowned, but turned back onto the path and started walking. "The Hunter of the Shawnee calls."

  Alexandra hurried to catch up. "Lifting scalps? What's he talking about?" She threw a glance over her shoulder. The shadows of the forest were lengthening now. Light and dark played in the treetops and the ground, reshaping familiar objects into eerie forms. "Is Two Crows following us? Did Hunter see something?"

  Jon took her arm. "Hunter is forever suspicious. He sees specters at every turn. We're safe enough. We just want to put as much distance between us and the trading post as possible before dark. It's just a precaution."

  Alexandra nodded and then was quiet for a moment as she walked beside Jon on the narrow game path. She watched the mule clop along behind the scraggly-haired trapper. Hunter's hair was the most amazing red color; the last rays of sunlight played off it, reflecting soft hues from a dark brown to a strawberry blond. A head full of hair like that would be the envy of any woman or wigmaker in London . . . or at least it would be if he'd run a comb through it in the last fortnight. She thought about a man she had been told was a redhead. Of course she'd never seen him without his wig. That was a long time ago . . .

  Alexandra nodded in Hunter's direction. "Is he always so contrary?"

  Jon glanced up at Hunter a good ten feet ahead of them. "Sometimes he's worse."

  Alexandra fell into silence again. She wanted to ask Jon more about this Hunter. She wanted to know more about them both. Obviously they were educated Englishmen. What were they doing out here in the middle of the wilderness? But she kept her thoughts private. She told herself she wanted to know more about Hunter to ascertain whether or not she should fear him, but the truth was, somewhere deep inside she was curious about him—a curiosity that nearly lent itself to fascination.

  It was well after dark by the time they reached the stream and stopped for the night. Hunter unloaded the packs from the mule and hobbled him in a small patch of grass down by the streambed.

  The moment the two men came to a halt, Alexandra sank to her knees by the stream and drank her fill of the cool water. Then she splashed her face and arms, knowing she must look as dreadful as she felt. As she stared out at the dark pool of water in the center of the stream she briefly consid
ered that bath Jon had suggested. It had been a month since she'd bathed and she knew she stank like a London sewer, but she also knew she'd be taking a foolish chance to bathe in the presence of these men, even in her shift. She'd be asking for trouble and she'd already had quite enough of that to last her a lifetime.

  Feeling a little better, she rose and walked to the small clearing where the men were settling in. Hunter was digging through the lumpy sacks on the ground. Jon had piled twigs and dried grass together and was now striking steel on flint to light a fire.

  "Do you think that's wise?" she asked, pointing at the first flickering flames.

  "To keep warm?" Hunter asked sarcastically.

  "No." She frowned. "To light a fire drawing attention to ourselves. If there's a chance Two Crows might be following us, we don't want to give ourselves away. The light and smoke from this fire will be a beacon." She dropped a hand to her hip suspiciously. "Are you trying to let him know where I am?"

  Hunter drew a bow and a quiver of arrows from a sack on the ground. "If Two Crows is coming after you, fire or no, he'll find you. Christ, woman, there's no need for a fire to light his way, he could hear you as far as the Eastern Shore!"

  Alexandra opened her mouth to retort, then clamped it shut. Maybe she did talk a little too much or a little too loudly, but she was nervous and she always talked when she was nervous.

  Hunter turned away. "I'm going to see if I can stir up some fresh game. I'll be back shortly." Then, as if as an afterthought, he reached into a pack on the ground and tossed an object directly at Alexandra. "I know you must be hungry," he grunted. "This will keep you until something is cooked."

  She caught it in a reflex action and sank down in a patch of grass in front of the fire. It was a small leather sack of dried meat. She broke off a big chunk and stuffed it into her mouth. It was chewy and the smell was pungent, but after days of no food, nothing could have tasted better.

  Alexandra looked up to thank Hunter, but he was gone. He'd disappeared into the brush without making a sound.

  Not ten minutes later Hunter appeared again, stepping into the grassy clearing as silently as he had left it. He tossed a dead rabbit at her feet and then a knife. She flinched as the weapon sank into the soft earth between her two feet. The knife had a long, sharp, pointed blade and a handle of carved wood with a leather strap and a feather dangling from it.

  "Fresh meat," he said. "Clean it and cook it." He started to turn away and then turned back. "You can skin and clean a rabbit, can't you?"

  Alexandra swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Of course she'd never cleaned a rabbit. She didn't even care for rabbit, but the way he looked at her—as if she was an imbecile—made her furious. She jerked the knife up out of the dirt. "Fried or fricasseed?"

  By the light of the campfire Alexandra could have sworn she saw the flicker of a smile behind the matted red beard. But then it was gone. Then there was only the cold, hard stare of a hungry, impatient man again. "Just don't burn it on the outside and leave it bloody on the inside, all right?"

  She watched him strut away, then turned her attention back to the rabbit lying between her feet. She took a deep breath, then reached out to pick up the lifeless animal. It was still warm to the touch. Meat, she told herself. It's meat, Alexandra. The only way you'll gain back your strength is to eat fresh, red meat.

  Tightening her grip on the knife, she rose and walked a few feet to where she'd seen a small, flat rock earlier. She knelt and rolled the rabbit onto its back. She didn't have the faintest idea where to start.

  She looked over her shoulder, thinking perhaps Jon could give her a hand, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only Hunter was there, leaning over the campfire to warm his broad hands. He looked at her, but she quickly looked away.

  Be damned if she'd admit to him that she didn't know what she was doing! Alexandra took a deep breath and lifted the knife. He wanted rabbit for supper, he would get it!

  Fifteen minutes later, Jon burst into laughter as Alexandra held up the rabbit carcass. Tears stung her eyes as she looked at it. She'd managed to get most of the hide off but there was fuzzy, grey fur stuck all over the pink bloody flesh—or what was left of it. She'd had a hard time separating the skin from the meat so that she taken off too much of the meat in places, not enough hide in other places. Here in the better light she could see that there really wasn't much left of the rabbit to cook.

  "What in God's name is that?" Jon asked, still laughing.

  "Rabbit," she choked. She was embarrassed by the tears that suddenly threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

  "That's a rabbit?"

  She picked at the pieces of fur stuck to the warm meat. She felt like a fool. How could she cry over a stupid dead rabbit when she hadn't even cried over the slaughter of her uncle and cousin. "There . . . there's really more here than it appears. I—"

  Hunter walked up and gently took the bloody carcass from her. "Not a problem," he murmured. "We'll just clean it up."

  She could hear Jon still laughing, but Hunter's voice sounded almost tender.

  She followed him to the stream where he got down on his hands and knees and began to rinse the rabbit in the slow-flowing water. Alexandra just stood there trying to rub the blood and grey fur from her hands. The rabbit blood suddenly reminded her of the blood spilled on the deck of the boat the day she'd been captured. Cousin Susan's blood. She rubbed her hands harder, her movements becoming frenzied.

  Before she realized it, Hunter had her wrists and he was pulling her down on her knees.

  "So much blood," she murmured under her breath. "I never saw so much blood."

  He thrust her hands into the water and began to scrub them with sand he dug off the bottom. "Shhhh . . . it's all right, sweeting," he whispered. "It's all right. You're safe now. We'll just get you cleaned up."

  She looked up into his face obscured by the tangled hair and wild red beard. Somewhere hidden in the hair she saw a compassionate face.

  "It's all right," he repeated. "You're safe. Now let's go back to the campfire and cook this."

  She looked down at the clean rabbit carcass lying in the grass. Slowly she gained control of herself. Thoughts of the blood and her capture slipped away. "I'm sorry I didn't do a better job."

  He stood, pulling her up with him. His rough grasp somehow seemed comforting.

  "Jon can be an ass sometimes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should have said you didn't know how to clean a rabbit. I'd have shown you."

  She nodded her head and then tore her gaze from his. There was something so unsettling about him. Something almost familiar. "Thank you," she whispered. Embarrassed by her own soft tone in her voice, she pulled her hands from his and walked away.

  Hunter skewered the rabbit carcass and cooked it over the open campfire. That and some dried berries from a leather sack made supper.

  Once the meager meal was over both men rolled out hide mats and stretched out on them only a few feet away from her. Alexandra sat down on her own mat and watched as Jon filled a clay pipe with tobacco and lit it. He lay back, relaxing as he crossed his feet, covered—not with knee-high moccasins like Hunter's but—with polished calfskin boots.

  Her gaze shifted to Hunter. He lay back, resting his head on his arm, but he was no means relaxed. Beside him on the hide mat rested his musket, loaded and ready to fire. The fingers of one of his hands brushed the wooden stock almost in a caress.

  "Expecting trouble?" she asked.

  For a moment she didn't think he'd heard her—that, or he had no intention of answering. But then slowly he turned his head toward her. "Always expect trouble. It might well keep you alive." His voice was not unkind, but he turned away from her again, obviously ending the conversation.

  Alexandra glanced at Jon, thinking to strike up a conversation with him, but his eyes were closed. Besides, she was still mad at him over the rabbit. He shouldn't have laughed like that. It was mean.

  With a sigh, she lay back on her hide
mat. Here was the perfect example of why she didn't like men. They made no sense to her. They seemed to serve little purpose in life other than to control the women around them.

  She let her eyes drift shut as she thought of her two betrothals. Good God, what disasters! The first had been six years ago. Her father had made arrangements for her to be betrothed to Geoffry Rordan, the Viscount Ashton. She'd seen him once across a dance floor, but he'd seemed a perfect specimen of a man at the time. Alexandra had only been fifteen and had fallen immediately in love with Geoffry who was ten years her senior.

  She hadn't even known his name then, but she remembered watching him from behind a stair banister as he whirled a young woman across the dance floor. She was so beautiful with her yellow-blond hair piled high in a tor. And she was laughing, laughing with him. Heavens, but Alexandra had been jealous.

  A year later, when Alexandra's father announced the alliance between her family and Geoffry's, she'd been ecstatic! She'd paid no heed to the gossips that warned her Geoffry Rordan was too wild and spoiled a gentleman to make a decent husband. She paid no heed to the whispering behind her back saying how surprised everyone was that the Earl of Monthrop had finally found someone to take his eldest daughter off his hands. Her disposition, they all said, made her too sharp-tongued for any man to want her as a wife.

  The wedding was set for six months later and preparations were begun despite the fact that the prospective bridegroom had not yet returned from France.

  But then Geoffry didn't return. Weeks, then months passed and still he didn't appear. Alexandra should have known then that something was amiss. But she was young and in love with a man she'd never even spoken with. Finally he returned from France and a betrothal party was held in the couple's honor. It was there that Alexandra would finally be introduced to Geoffry.

  He never showed up at the party . . .

  Alexandra felt her face grow red with embarrassment as she recalled that night. He'd broken her heart. All evening long she sat in her bedchamber waiting for his arrival . . . waiting for him to slip her hand into his and kiss her on the cheek. How mortified she'd been when she finally realized he wasn't coming.