“Perhaps now that the white father is dead, he wants her for himself,” one of them joked in the Comanche tongue. “She is a good prize.”
One of the others swung a club from behind, slamming it into the back of Zeke’s skull. Zeke fell forward, keeping LeeAnn with him, stubbornly fighting his wounds and struggling to stay conscious as he placed his large frame over his daughter’s in an attempt to keep the warriors from getting to her. He felt a foot pushing on him then, trying to roll him over, and somehow Zeke found the strength to bolt upright and ram his blade deep into his protagonist’s belly, then rip upward to the warrior’s throat while LeeAnn screamed in horror. She had never seen her father commit such a ruthless act. This was the Indian side of her father. This was the Cheyenne in him. It frightened her, yet now he was her only hope of being saved and she was afraid her father was going to die trying to protect her.
The other three warriors began to club Zeke before he could rip his knife out of the fourth warrior’s throat. Zeke finally yanked it out and whirled, slashing with the knife but unable to see because of the blows to his head. He felt himself falling, and he grasped for LeeAnn but felt her being torn from his hand. He heard her screams of terror, then laughter and war whoops and the sound of horses riding away.
Zeke still grasped his knife. He struggled to his knees, his bludgeoned mind thinking he could actually get on a horse and go after his daughter. But when he fought to get to his feet, he could not move. He groaned LeeAnn’s name, feeling himself a failure, even though he had been one man against twenty warriors. In addition to the three dead braves Abbie had shot, five others lay dead around Zeke Monroe, a remarkable feat considering the odds and the vicious blow and stabbings Zeke had suffered. But he could not consider his struggle a success. Eight warriors out of twenty lay dead, but his daughter was gone. To Zeke that spelled failure. Zeke Monroe was not used to failure. Rage overwhelmed him at the thought that the Indians had been driven to such desperation that even he had suffered their revenge. Now he would have to go after the Comanche raiders and get his daughter back. Again and again he struggled to rise, breathing deeply, drawing on the inner fighting spirit that had made him a warrior.
He crawled to a fencepost and grasped it, pulling himself up by sheer will. He would not let his wounds stop him! He would pray to the spirits for strength and wisdom and he would get his daughter back from the Comanche.
Suddenly Abbie was there, speaking to him from some distant place for her voice seemed far away. He was barely aware that he draped an arm around her shoulders for support as she walked him to the cabin, where his children gasped and cried out at the sight of their bloodied, beaten father, his coat and clothes ripped by Comanche lances, his body caked with blood. His face was bruised and battered and his right wrist, already swollen, was an ugly purple color. Still, with amazing stubbornness, he still clung tightly to the blade in his right hand.
He heard Abbie ordering one of the children to boil water, and he was aware that she undressed him before he was lowered to their bed of robes. There was frightened crying somewhere, and someone asked what was going to happen to LeeAnn.
“Nothing will happen to her!” he heard Abbie say sternly. “They will save her to sell. They won’t harm her. And your father will find her before she is sold. He will find her!” Her voice broke on the last words. He tried to speak, wanting to console her, but neither his body nor his mouth would move. Blackness began to envelope him as Abbie ordered Jeremy to go to the barn and see if any horses were left and to tend to them if there were. Then he felt the knife being pried from his hand. He let go reluctantly. LeeAnn! He had to save LeeAnn!
There followed two days of searing pain and semiconsciousness for Zeke, during which he often mumbled LeeAnn’s name. Abbie knew he was struggling to dredge up the inner strength that came from his deep spirituality, that certain savage strength he had acquired from early days of fasting and visions and from his beliefs in the powers of the animal spirits, the strength that kept men like Zeke going when others gave up the fight. By the third day he was sitting up and meditating when she went into the bedroom that afternoon to check on him. When he looked at her, she felt as though a sword was being driven through her middle. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his usually handsome mouth set in rigid determination that made him look like the vicious, painted warriors who had stolen away LeeAnn. Their eyes held for just a moment and she swallowed back her terrible sorrow, wondering how many things one person was supposed to bear.
“You’ll go after her, of course,” she said quietly.
His fists were clenched, and he deliberately worked his badly bruised right wrist, wanting to feel the pain, wanting to suffer for failing his daughter and, in his mind, for failing his wife too.
“Tomorrow,” he replied.
Her heart tightened. “You aren’t ready to travel, let alone fight Comanches. There’s a terrible stab wound in your right shoulder and you probably have a concussion and your wrist—”
“Tomorrow!” he growled. “I feel no pain from my wounds! I feel nothing but revenge—and shame!” He raised his right arm and worked it up and down, beads of sweat breaking out on his face. Any delay was too long.
Abbie’s eyes widened. “Shame! There must have been twenty of them! How can you feel shame?”
“I should have sensed their presence in the first place!” he hissed. “I have been too long away from living wild and free like the animals! At one time my keen senses would have warned me that Comanches were nearby! Because I have lost that sharp edge, my brother is dead and my daughter is gone, and so are my horses, my only livelihood. How am I to care for the family now?”
“We’ll manage. We’ve always managed!”
He breathed out a disgusted sigh. “First I must find LeeAnn. Never has my heart been so torn or my mind so confused. I cannot even grieve for my brother because my heart is so heavy for my daughter!” He swallowed and looked away from her, clenching his fists again. “There will be time for grieving when I return. There will be much more than my brother to grieve over. I have lost more than my brother and horses and my daughter.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
He looked up at her, a terrible sadness in his eyes, as though he were telling her good-bye. “How much more can I put you through? It has already been too much. I want you to pack a travois. Are there any horses left at all?”
“Two pregnant mares, and”—she swallowed—“and Lance’s horse.”
She saw a strange resignation and a new, different determination come into his eyes, as though he had made up his mind about something gravely important to both of them without consulting her first. “That’s it?”
She nodded, her eyes tearing.
“Then pack clothing, whatever books you need, anything special to you. Have the children help you make up a travois. We’ll let Lance’s horse pull it. It’s important that the two remaining mares have those colts. You’ll need them.”
She sighed and came closer, trying to quell a building, unknown fear. “What do you mean, I’ll need them?”
“We’ll discuss it when I get back. I’m taking you and the children to Sir Tynes. The man is always offering to help us. Now he can do it. There isn’t time to take you to Fort Lyon. Besides the fort is swamped with soldiers and scouts, some of them might not be very trustworthy, not when they learn that you’re married to a half-breed!” He spat the word as though he disliked it himself. “You can’t stay here, of course, not with Lance dead and no man on the place. Tynes’s place is much closer and I can get a quicker start in finding LeeAnn. We’ll board up the cabin until I get back. Then we’ll decide what’s to become of the Monroes.”
“I have no doubt what will become of the Monroes!” she answered quickly, her heart pounding with fear. “They will go on and survive as they have always done!”
He just looked at her then, the strange resignation on his face. His eyes dropped to gaze at her slender form. Abbie. His A
bbie. Still lovely. Still desirable.
“We knew twenty years ago that our lives were too far apart, Abbie,” he said coolly.
She put a hand to her stomach. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she feared that he might bolt away like a wild animal. She was never sure what to say to him when he was like this. Her throat hurt, she wanted to cry. She needed him now more than ever, yet he was strangely removed from her. “You … made a decision once before … a long time ago … after I almost died from having Jeremy. Without discussing it with me, you decided you would no longer share my bed and risk another pregnancy. That decision nearly destroyed us both.”
“Then we’ll have to be stronger this time, won’t we?” He met her eyes, deliberately ignoring the desperation he saw there. “We’ll talk about it when I return. For now you will go to Sir Tynes and his fortress of a home, as he calls it.” His eyes moved over her again. “I doubt that the Englishman will mind. He would like nothing better than to have you under his roof. Perhaps it is time you had a taste of the life you could have had if you had not had a heathen husband. At least, you deserve to live in comfort and without fear while I am gone. You would not do so at Fort Lyon. The only answer is Sir Tynes. He is not a bad man. He will take care of you and treat you honorably.” He met her eyes boldly. “But I do not doubt he will tempt you dearly. If I did not trust you as I do, it would be harder for me. However, at the same time I want you to consider strongly what you wish to do with the rest of your life.”
Her eyes widened with anger. “The rest of my life? Are you saying I have some kind of choice? Well, I most certainly do not! You are my life! This family is my life! It will be no other way. Without you I would have no purpose for existing, except to make sure my children make it to adulthood, after which I would have nothing.”
“Right now you have nothing with me either.” He turned away from her, his long, shining hair falling over his wounded shoulder. She knew the terrible pain he was in and wanted to comfort him, but she knew he would not let her. “Zeke—”
“Start packing!” he said curtly. “We must leave sometime today.”
“But I can’t be ready that quickly.”
“You must! Each moment that goes by is a moment lost in finding LeeAnn. As it is, it will be very difficult.”
She stepped back, shaking with the fear of the decisions he had made, knowing how stubborn he could be when he thought he was doing what was best for his Abbie. “All right,” she said quietly. She left the room with a heavy heart, and Zeke watched her go. How he loved her! How his heart ached at the thought of losing her forever!
Sir Tynes was more than happy to “help” the Monroes in their hour of need. He was truly sorry about LeeAnn, yet could not hide his exuberance at the fact that Abigail Monroe would be under his roof for weeks, perhaps even months. He quickly ushered all of them inside his great stone mansion, part of which was still not finished. The basic living quarters were done, however, and as he showed them those rooms, the children all stared in amazement at the rich mahogany furniture and woodwork, the four walls of books in the massive library, the polished hardwood floors, the expensive paintings on the walls, and the fancy Oriental vases placed in just the right places. The children walked carefully, afraid of breaking something, and they talked in whispers, as though they were in a king’s palace.
Zeke accepted Tynes’s hospitality stonily, his dark eyes flashing constant warning looks at the Englishman, looks that told Tynes to treat Abigail Monroe as the married woman she was. On the one hand, he wanted Abigail to live this life for a while, perhaps even to have the chance to enjoy it forever. On the other, he wanted to grab Sir Edwin S. Tynes about the throat and slam him against a wall, to cut his eyes out so he would stop looking at Abigail like a man in love. But Zeke had no choice. This was the best place for his family while he was gone. There were plenty of men on the vast Tynes estate, and the house itself was like a fort. His wife and children would want for nothing.
Tynes brought them to the kitchen, where he offered Zeke and Abbie tea and coffee, the children fresh milk, along with cookies just baked by a hired cook. The children ate the sweets with relish, their warmth helping to ward off the damp chill they felt because of the sleet storm they had walked through on their way to the estate.
Zeke did not sit down, but paced like a caged animal while Abbie told Tynes what had happened. The Englishman watched Zeke, amazed at his ability to recover so quickly and awed by his appearance—all Indian on this day, in dress and countenance—and impressed by the fact that Zeke Monroe was perfectly willing to ride after marauding Comanches to rescue his daughter.
“Why don’t you have the soldiers help you?” Tynes asked.
Zeke stood near him and sneered down at him. “Soldiers don’t go riding after one small band of Comanches to rescue the daughter of a half-breed,” he replied coldly. “Besides, right now there aren’t enough men to handle all the bigger skirmishes going on. Indians are making war from Texas to Montana, Tynes. My one small problem is of no concern to them.”
Tynes scanned Zeke’s large, menacing frame, hoping he would never have to go at it physically with the man. “Well, at least you’re Cheyenne. You must understand some of the ways of the Comanche. An Indian is an Indian, is he not?”
Zeke’s nostrils flared with anger. “Yes. I suppose to men like you we’re all the same, but there are differences. White men never try to understand them. Because of that lack of understanding, my son is somewhere in the north, God knows where, or whether he is even still alive. Indians are making war everywhere on the plains. And now I must leave my family because my own kind have robbed me of my horses and my child. My son fights whites in the north, while I go to fight Indians in the south!” A smirk twisted his lips. “It is strange the things this land makes men do, is it not? I have an Indian brother in the north riding against the whites, and a white brother in the same place wearing a blue uniform and fighting Indians. My children have Indian blood and don’t know which way to go. My woman”—he stopped and swallowed, his heart heavy—“my woman is left with the biggest burden of all, caring about the whites, but loving an Indian, and raising children with both bloods. It has been hard for her. Perhaps for a while she can relax and feel safe here, stop working so hard and have access to books so the children can learn more.”
“Of course.” Tynes rose. “Zeke, I will take good care of them. I am honored to have the opportunity, and I wish you Godspeed in finding your daughter.” He put out his hand, his eyes sincere. Zeke took the hand firmly, squeezing hard.
“I will owe you for this.” He held up his chin proudly. “I will work for you when I return. I have lost my horses, and if I do not get them back I will have no way of repaying you.”
Tynes started to tell the man repayment was not necessary, but he’d heard that Indians never accepted gifts without giving something in return and he’d seen the hurt pride in Zeke’s eyes. “We’ll figure something out when you return,” Tynes told him.
Zeke nodded. “I wish to be alone with Abigail. Do you have a room where we can go?”
Tynes fought a searing jealousy, still finding it difficult to picture the gentle Abigail with this man. “Of course. Follow me.” He led them from the kitchen and Zeke reached out for Abbie, taking her arm with sudden gentleness. He looked at the children. “I will see you once more before I go. Be honorable and respectable while you are here. Obey Sir Tynes and treat his belongings with respect. Help in any way you can.”
They all nodded, some of them still stunned by the horrible events of the last few days. Little Lillian sniffed because of a runny nose, then coughed. The trip through the sleet storm had been hard on the sickly child. Zeke turned and led Abbie out of the kitchen after Sir Tynes. They had spoken little since he’d first announced she must pack and leave. There had only been time for the packing and the uncomfortable trip and then the explanations to Sir Tynes.
They followed the Englishman up a grand staircase to a carp
eted hallway in which there were several closed doors. Tynes opened one of them, ushering Zeke and Abbie into a huge bedroom. The carpeting, wallpaper, bedding, and the canopy over the grand fourposter bed were all a soft, pleasant green.
“This is one of my finer guest rooms,” he told them. “It shall be Mrs. Monroe’s room while she is here.”
Zeke looked around the room, almost as big as their entire cabin. He met Tynes’s eyes then, and the warning look in his Indian eyes chilled Sir Tynes’s blood.
“I trust you will never come into this room,” he said flatly.
“Zeke!” Abbie gasped, putting a hand to her chest and reddening.
The two men held each other’s gaze. “Your trust is proper,” Tynes replied. “I have nothing but the deepest respect for your wife, Mister Monroe, and I am aware that this is a trying time of mourning for her. I will simply see that she enjoys complete peace and comfort.”
Zeke nodded. “We will all have much to talk about when I return,” he told Tynes. The Englishman frowned, curious, then he shrugged.
“I suppose we will.” He glanced at Abbie, who had turned away. He wasn’t sure he should leave her alone with her husband at the moment; Zeke looked so savage. But during the year he had known these people, he had realized that their affection and loyalty seemed indestructible. Abbie had lived with her Cheyenne man for twenty years so apparently she loved and trusted him. Tynes envied the deep love they shared. Still, he sensed that something was amiss, but Zeke Monroe’s mood warned Tynes not to question him. “I’ll… uh … leave you two alone now,” he said quietly, turning to exist and closing the door after him.
For a moment, Zeke stood there quietly, listening to Tynes’s footsteps go down the stairs. Then he walked up to Abbie and grasped her shoulders, turning her. “I want to make love to you. Perhaps it will be the last time,” he told her.
She choked back a sob and turned her face away. “Stop talking that way!” she whimpered. “I… don’t know you, Zeke. I don’t know what to do, what to say to you … except that I love you … and I hate it when you talk this way!”
Climb the Highest Mountain Page 16