Riverrun

by Andrews, Felicia

  Cal was replaced by Bobbie, then by Josh, but none of them spoke to her, not even a grunt. They had done what they had done, and now they were deeply involved in the business of fleeing for their lives. Cass had hours ago given up the hope that they might run into some soldiers or locals, realizing that the trio would be keeping well away from the major roads. Now and then she could hear, or thought she could hear, the crackle of firing in the distance, but it faded so rapidly that she often wondered if it were mere wishful thinking.

  There had been a fragment of a dream, too: that Geoff in his captain’s splendor came riding up to the carriage, reached inside and pulled her out in one swift motion, setting her astride the magnificent Falcon and riding away with her like some Godsent spectre. But it had only been a dream, and she wished she had the resources to weep when she realized it.

  By the evening of what she reckoned was the third day since her capture, she made herself understand that she had no idea of where they were now. Maryland, perhaps, or even the swollen hills of northern Virginia. It was useless trying to pinpoint her location, however, because even if she knew it, it would do her no good. It was merely another waste of speculation, of time, but she grinned bitterly as she told herself that time was all she seemed to have left.

  When Cal scrambled back in through the door to relieve Bobbie with a kick and a grunt, she allowed herself to relax more than just a little. Despite her sullen hatred for the three of them, she still found Cal much the easiest to take. He was the only one who bothered to feed her and to give her drink, and to talk to pass the lonely, painful hours. But she noticed now that his face had grown more worn from lack of proper sleep and a decent meal. He said little, only taking care of her water and bread, then stretched out as best he could and fell promptly asleep. He groaned sometime later, and his hands reached out blindly as they grasped for his lost sword and rifle. It was not the first time. She had seen him caught in the throes of an embattled nightmare, and at such times she felt an odd urge to wake him gently and brush away the fear with soft words or a touch. Then, with a start, she would remember his part in her abduction and scold herself angrily for the weakness of compassion

  She stared at him thoughtfully, remembering that afternoon when he had fairly bounced on the seat with excitement as they passed swiftly into the Southern hills. He talked of his family’s farm and how well it had been doing before the call to arms had come two eternally long years before. He became excited, almost boyish, when he spoke of the battles he had participated in, waving his arms wildly about the narrow cabin in a gallant attempt to convince her of his deeds of heroism under fire, most of which, she decided with a hint of reluctance, were more imagined than real.

  And when he had done, the storytelling putting him in an almost holiday mood, he worked over her until her hands were now in her lap and her bonds loosened slightly to give her some brief comfort. Thus, she was able to handle the cup of water when it was handed down to her, to hold the bread and the small cuttings of fruit he dug out from a sack he’d brought in from the top of the carriage. She thanked him, smiling, and ate and drank carefully, preserving the precious water as though she were struggling across some vast Western desert. Strength was what she needed now, and a clear head for quick thinking. More through instinct than from verifiable fact, she had known since that morning that they were now traveling through the relative safety of rebel country, and her value as a hostage was diminishing at a rapid rate. Soon she would be tossed aside as worthless—either dead, or near enough to it to make little difference.

  Images floated, then, before her weary eyes: of her father as she had last seen him before the ball shattered his brain; of her mother and poor Geoff disappearing into the cellar that was to be their grave; of her brothers lying unclaimed, and unknown, on a battlefield strewn with tens of thousands of their kind. Though she had long ago condemned the infamy of one man’s keeping another as a slave, she found herself wondering at the seeming futility of the fighting, and the price the country was paying for something it called freedom. But it had to be worth it, she thought in her confusion, or Rafe and Greg had been killed for nothing.

  Her first tears since she had been abducted welled up, then, and snaked warmly down her cheeks. They were few, however, and bitter. Soon, she promised herself, there will be a time when I can cry as I should; but for now, with this man, with these men and their—

  “Any time now,” Cal said suddenly, struggling to sit upright as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked down at her, staring at but not commenting on her not-yet-dry tears. “Yep,” he said, “any day now. One, maybe two.”

  She looked at him blankly, afraid to ask whether he meant they would be at their destination, or at the moment of her execution.

  “You’re gonna be a problem, y’know that?”

  She almost laughed in his face. How could she not know it? And if the truth be known, she had realized it a lot sooner than he. But, though a gnawing fear began to work at her insides, she was paradoxically glad that it was all now out in the open. When that fear had been but a nebulous thing, it was the stuff of nightmares not easily shaken off; now that the matter had been broached, however, it was something almost tangible that she could work toward dealing with.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, trying not to grin when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

  He considered, then shrugged, and the coldness of the gesture made her fear his apathy more than the calculated evil of Josh or Bobbie. “Maybe. That depends on if one of us wants to take you or not.”

  The studied offhandedness of the comment made her lose control of her tongue. “And what in hell makes you think I would want to go with any of you?”

  She was further incensed when, as he raised his eyebrows in surprise at her outburst, she saw his lips tremble in a suppressed grin.

  “Don’t think you have much choice, ma’am,” he said. “If we let you out now, you’ll probably die anyway. Lots of troops hereabouts, I think. They been known to do a woman to death. Fightin’ does strange things to a man.”

  So I’ve noticed, she thought acidly, but kept the comment to herself. More importantly, his mention of troops gave her hope that she was not as deep in enemy territory as she’d thought.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Would you take me?”

  It was not an idle question. Of the three, if she were to have any hope of surviving long enough to get back home, she would rather take her chances with Cal. In spite of his hardness, she still was able to sense a spark of humanity beneath his gruff exterior. With him, she felt she could deal with words instead of force; the other two only knew their lust and their fear, nothing more.

  “Well?” she said when he did not answer.

  “Don’t need you,” he said, one hand toying with the door curtains. “I already got a wife of my own.”

  Cass looked down at her lap, trying not to let her dismay show. So, she thought with resignation, it would be Josh or Bobbie. Most likely the former. She needed little imagination to envision her fate with that rebel outlaw. She would become nothing more than his sexual slave, rape upon rape, until he had done with her and cast her aside like so many rags.

  The carriage slowed, rocked violently, and she recognized the familiar sensation of crossing: they were approaching a stream or river, and the team of horses was preparing to ford it. Cal stuck his head through the window and yelled something to the men above. As he did, Cass’s eyes lighted on something she had not noticed before—a sheath tied to his wide black belt, and from it the worn handle of a hunting knife protruded invitingly. Her resignation was shattered. Slowly, while an overconfident Cal traded coarse insults with Bobbie, she drew up her legs until she was kneeling, waited for the carriage to steady momentarily, then sprang forward and snatched the knife from its home. Cal snarled and ducked back inside, but his head struck the window frame and he slumped onto the seat, stunned, his eyes glazing briefly. By the time his head had cleared, Cass had al
ready sliced the sharp blade through her ankles’ bonds and was working her wrists free with her teeth.

  He tensed and braced hi palms against the cabin walls.

  “Don’t!” she warned, her eyes feral, her lips drawn back to expose her teeth. Both hands gripped the knife’s bone handle, and its gleaming point aimed directly at his heart. “Don’t,” she repeated softly. “Don’t give me an excuse.”

  Chapter Four

  The sound of rushing water marked the carriage’s crossing; Bobbie, riding post, called to Josh the safest passage.

  Cal, his eyes flicking toward the door and back again, judged the short distance between himself and the knife and his expression told Cass that he knew a lunge would more than likely impale him. He was obviously angry and disgusted at his carelessness, but he relaxed in the corner as Cass snapped her hands free and wriggled until she was on the front seat, diagonally across from him.

  “And don’t call out, either,” she cautioned when she saw his chest swell with a deep breath. “You and your late friends saw what I can do with a gun. I’m just as good with one of these,” and she waved the knife in front of her. “It comes of your damned army killing off my brothers, and our damned army taking them away to be killed.”

  “Such language for a lady,” he clucked, shaking his head. “I thought you Northern women was brought up better’n that.” Then he grinned with arrogant confidence. “Now what, ma’am, are you plannin’ to do now that you got me? You gonna jump out? It’s terrible dark out there, y’know. Josh’ll get himself into a hell of a mad. He’ll find you sure as hell and skin you alive. And I mean that most particularly. He’ll do it as sure as I’m sittin’ here. ’Course, that’s after he—”

  “Shut up!” she ordered. She needed time to think, and his mocking prattle was confusing her.

  “Oh, ma’am, I wouldn’t want to rile you none,” he said in that leering, insinuating tone. “Wouldn’t want to get you mad, either, now would I? But I do wish you’d come to your senses. You gonna be a schoolteacher? Then you’re definitely smart enough to know you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Nowhere at all.”

  The carriage veered sharply as Cass listened, and she was thrown hard to one side before she could steady herself. Cal immediately lunged across the narrow space, grabbing her wrist and pinning it back against the cabin’s front wall. His free hand scrabbled for her throat, while Cass’s hand twisted into claws that raked whatever skin she could find in the scramble. A nail finally caught at the bone beneath his left eye and she yanked down hard as she stared into the maddened frenzy her attempted escape had driven him into. He yowled and snapped back his head, rammed a knee into her thigh. The pain nearly doubled her over and she felt her fingers losing their grip on the knife’s sweat-slippery handle. Desperately, using all the rage she could summon, she kicked, scratched, fought for ways to use her teeth, and they slipped from the bench seat onto the floor that was bucking as though it had a life of its own.

  Cal, despite her squirming, landed on top, spittle running from his mouth into the stream of blood that rushed from the gash her nail had drawn below his eye. Though she did not know how it had happened, the knife was now in his left hand, its point wavering only inches from her exposed throat. “Bitch.” He smiled cruelly.

  But again the carriage lurched as it jolted up the stream’s opposite bank. Cal was thrown forward slightly and the knife plunged toward her neck. She screamed and twisted her head sharply; the thunk of the blade burying itself into the planking was like a thunderclap in her ear. The man swore, punched her viciously in the stomach to keep her gasping, and wrestled to free the weapon. His face was flushed with anger, his teeth bared, and his laugh was almost a snarl when the knife pulled free and he sat back triumphantly.

  There came a noise, then, and Cal blinked. It had been a shot, soon followed by another, and a man’s scream was cut off when his body struck the water. Yet another shot, and an answering one from whoever was still driving, and Cass felt the carriage leap forward onto the road, flying, racing, the cabin more unstable now than it had been in the crossing.

  Cal turned his head at the first shot, muttering in angered surprise, and Cass immediately kicked out blindly, freeing her hands and shoving them with a vicious snap against his chest. He fell back against the door, his head striking wood, and she lashed out again with her feet, her heels ramming his shoulders and neck. His eyes widened in disbelief and shock, his hands flailed wildly as the door gave way and he tumbled backward into the night.

  Cass lay on her back for a moment, her mouth opened to suck in the suddenly cool air. Then she tried to make her way to the gaping door, her only thought a desperate leap for freedom before anyone knew Cal was gone. Her attempts were futile, however, as the carriage careened wildly, making no effort to avoid obstacles in the road in its flight from pursuit. Once, she made it to her knees, but she was thrown back heavily and her head struck a glancing blow on the edge of the worn seat. Lights flashed in a harsh rainbow pattern in front of her eyes, but she was determined not to let deliverance slip through her fingers. Keeping herself low to avoid the shooting, she crawled to the door and grabbed at the frame. The outside was a blackened blur as she hauled herself up, and she hesitated in jumping, a hesitation that cost her the opportunity as another hole was struck and again she was thrown back. This time, however, she managed to twist around before landing, her arms out to catch herself and absorb the shock of the fall. Her palms scraped along the floor, her elbows locked, and as she brought her knees up to keep from dropping prone, her right arm gave way and the side of her face slammed against the seat. Immediately, she lost control of her left arm and her forehead struck the floor.

  Suddenly, then, it was dark, a darkness ablaze with torches that burned her eyes, formed a blinding whirlpool that sucked her down into a sea of night and buried her in oblivion.

  She had no notion of how long she had remained unconscious, but she was awakened by a rush of cold that gushed over her, spilling into her mouth and nostrils until she choked. She thrashed about wildly, realized she was still in the carriage, and managed to haul herself up onto the rear-facing seat before the frigid water could trap and drown her. She was drenched, shivering from shock and cold, yet she still had the presence of mind to keep silent until she understood better what her situation was.

  She had no way of knowing what had happened to either Josh or Bobbie, nor who had pursued them. The carriage was still upright, and from the continuous flow of water only inches below her, she surmised it had been abandoned or had stalled in the middle of some mountain-fed river. The doors had apparently been flung open by some unknown impact and were now pinned against the vehicle’s sides. The night was silent, however, and she heard no shouts, no firing, no telltale signs of anyone near her. Her lungs filled and emptied slowly until she was positive no one knew she was still in the cabin; then she gingerly grabbed at the door frame and pulled herself forward until she could extend one leg outside to test the depth of the water. For a moment she feared it would be well over her head, and with limbs and head still throbbing from the pummeling she had endured, she did not think she would be able to swim successfully to the nearest shoreline. Cautiously, she lowered her foot into the water. The carriage jerked, shifting with an agonized shriek that caused her to hang on grimly. She waited, edged forward again, and once more the carriage shuddered. She froze, and listened, and heard in the near distance the unmistakable roar of white water.

  She closed her eyes and ordered herself not to give way to the panic that added to her chills. Almost defiantly she wiped a hand over her face, brushing back the straggles of hair that clung wetly to her skin, and took a deep, calming breath. The carriage, she thought, had probably been driven blindly across the river, with no regard for safety except in flight, and had most likely jammed itself against some hidden boulder in the riverbed. At least, she realized thankfully, someone had had the presence of mind to free the horses, since she heard nothing of panicked screams or felt
any frantic tugging at the traces. But it was clear that to move precipitously would mean losing the stricken carriage with her still lingering within. Whether there were falls nearby no longer mattered; the obviously huge rocks that caused the water to thunder so loudly would do their lethal job well enough.

  She moved immediately to the up river side, and again gripping the door frame, eased herself slowly down and out. The carriage shuddered but did not move, and she whispered a brief, thankful prayer. Her suspicions proved correct—a sharp-sided boulder had impaled the carriage at the juncture of shaft and body. Its sleek, washed sides gleamed a dull silver, and the river, as she turned her head, rushed blackly toward her, sparking whitely only where it had been pierced by subsurface obstacles.

  She knew that on any other occasion it would have been a breathtakingly beautiful scene; now it was one that only filled her with dread. From the looks of it, there would be no easy wading ashore. She would have to swim.

  For the second time since her nightmare had begun, she thought of Aunt Aggie. Several times her father had taken her to Philadelphia, and while there Agatha had insisted Cass be brought to the wide banks of the Delaware, where races were held during the summer for those young men who thought they were strong enough to swim the short but turbulent distance across to Camden. Cass had been fascinated by the feat, and had accepted a dare by her cousin Bret to try it herself. Her father had objected, her aunt had been scandalized, and it was only under the cover of a dark August evening that she and Bret had made the attempt. When it was done, she had succeeded, and the marks she bore for weeks afterward as the result of her father’s subsequent whipping, she displayed proudly to her brothers.