By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  Tearing the shirt into strips, she bandaged Pride's head. Then, she used more of the shirt to drip water into his mouth. He coughed and opened his eyes. "Hello," she said.

  "I feel like a horse kicked me."

  "A snake. Tschi hit you with this rifle. It should be stitched, but I don't have a needle." She bent and stroked his damp hair. "I was worried when you wouldn't wake up."

  "Don't you get near me with a needle. I've seen you sew."

  "Pride," she whispered, "we're in trouble, big trouble. Do you remember what I told you before?"

  He touched his head and winced. "No. Can't it wait until morning?"

  Kate looked at the Huron warriors around the campfires, and then at DeSalle's tent. A light burned inside. "No, I don't think so." She told him again what she knew of their captors. "Do you know him? DeSalle?"

  Pride shut his eyes. "I know him. We're not what you'd call friends." He fingered the wound again. "Did you pull this thing tight?"

  "Yes. And I put cobweb in it. Wabethe said—"

  "Make the bandage tighter. I'm seeing double, but I think that will remedy itself in time. What kind of warriors did you say DeSalle has with him?"

  Kate offered him more water. "Just Huron."

  Pride's eyes flew open. "Huron?"

  She took his hand and brushed her lips against the callused fingertips. Pride's hands were solid and square, the nails cleanly pared. Kate forced a chuckle. "It's not so bad," she quipped. "At least they're not Iroquois."

  He opened one eye. "Kate, Hurons are Iroquois."

  "But they can't be," she whispered. "DeSalle's French. The Iroquois are British allies. You told me that yourself."

  "The Five Nations were friendly to the Crown the last I heard. But the Huron are French allies. The Huron—oh, hell, Katy! Just take my word for it. If you get a chance to escape, take it. Don't worry about me." He pushed himself up on his elbows, then sank back. "Are there any other whites here? Any other Frenchmen?"

  "No, I haven't seen any. There are about twenty Indians. DeSalle said he was meeting with someone in a day or two. Then we'd be moving out. He said if you couldn't travel, he'd shoot you."

  "Stay clear of him, Kate. He's dangerous. I don't know who he's meeting, but if you get the chance to go with him, take it."

  "You know I won't leave you. Why does DeSalle hate you?"

  "We fought. I cut him bad... in a place no man wants to be cut."

  Kate paled. "You're not serious." She glanced over her shoulder at the tent. "I told him we were married. He wanted me to... Well, he called me a whore, so I lied. I said I was your wife."

  "You didn't lie, Ki-te-hi. I am your husband, before God and man, in every way that matters. I want you to know that, and to know how much I love you."

  "Shhh, don't talk now. You're still weak. Sleep if you can; I'll be here with you." She cradled his head in her lap. Pride's talk of double vision frightened her more than the Indians. What if it didn't get better? What if...

  "No, Kate. You've got to understand! DeSalle mustn't know that I consider you my wife. If he had any idea how much you mean to me..." His muscles tensed, and he tried to rise. Dizziness and nausea overcame him. "I think I'm going to be sick," he admitted sheepishly.

  Kate held his head, then washed him with fresh water from the river. "It's no more than you did for me," she whispered. He drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  The camp fires died down, and most of the Huron braves lay down to sleep. Trying not to show the fear that surged through her, Kate walked casually to the nearest fire. A grizzled warrior glared at her. She glared back, hoping she wouldn't disgrace herself by wetting her pants like a child.

  The remains of an animal were suspended over the coals; it looked like a goat or a small deer. Kate knelt beside the fire and stared at it. There was plenty of meat left on the carcass, but she had no way to cut it. Her eyes met the Huron's again. A twisted scar ran from the corner of his left eye to his lip, giving him a terrifying appearance.

  "May I borrow your knife?" she asked in Shawnee. He stared at her as though she were a bug; not a muscle moved in the copper mask. Kate repeated the question in English.

  He grinned and drew his skinning knife from the sheath. He rose to his feet, catlike; he was well over six feet tall, and his chest and arms were covered with tattoos. The blade glimmered in the firelight as he brought it close to Kate's throat.

  "Cut the meat, not me," she snapped, without flinching. Another second and she would shame herself. The Huron looked like an ogre from one of her father's fairy tales. She could well imagine him devouring human flesh.

  With a chuckle, he sliced off a hindquarter of the animal and threw it into the dirt. He stood over it, daring her to reach and pick it up.

  "Merci," she said, snatching up the bone. She turned on her heel and walked slowly back to Pride, praying the knife would not bury itself in her exposed back. Pride would need food when he woke again. She couldn't depend on them to feed him. She must find the courage to do it herself.

  Her knees turned to jelly as she reached Pride and dropped down in the dirt beside him. He was still asleep. Methodically, she began to tear the meat into tiny pieces.

  Through the long night, Pride woke and slept, tossed by fever and wracked by shaking chills. When he was himself, Kate urged bits of meat and water into his mouth. When he wasn't, she bathed his face and chest with water, or lay close to warm him with her own body.

  The Indian guards paid her no more attention than a camp dog; DeSalle never stirred from his tent. Her eyes burned with weariness, but she dared not sleep. As long as she kept her vigil, she convinced herself, Pride would be safe.

  * * *

  "Fille!" An accented voice woke Kate from sleep. The Frenchman stood over her. "What have you done with my shirt?"

  "What do you think?" She turned her attention to Pride, touching his head to reassure herself that he was breathing naturally. The fever was gone. She got to her feet. "I am, as you said, sir, a practical woman."

  "Stir your ass, and make me some tea." He motioned to the tent. "There's a kettle inside. Can you cook?"

  She laughed. "No."

  "Believe her, DeSalle," Pride said weakly. "She's good for only one thing, and precious little good at that."

  "Not a very gentlemanly way to speak of your wife, Ashton."

  Pride scoffed. "Did you tell him that? The slut fancies herself highly. It's not likely I'd hunt a wife in Newgate where I plucked her."

  Kate flushed crimson. "He lies! I—"

  DeSalle shoved her toward the tent. "I thought as much. Have you a name, woman? Or does he just whistle when he wants you?" The bland face smirked.

  "My name is Kathryn." He slapped her backside, and she stiffened, fighting back the urge to hit him with anything she could pick up. "And I come to no whistles!"

  "Make me some decent breakfast, and then wash this shirt." He thrust a soiled linen shirt in her face. "Find whatever laundry there is and clean it. Don't touch my buckskins."

  "I'm no kitchen maid!"

  "You'll be whatever I choose, or Ashton won't live out the day. You've loyalty for a whore, but it's misplaced. Ashton and I have an old score to settle. If you're smart, you'll stay out of it."

  "He's lying. I am his wife. I can pay any ransom you demand. Name your price."

  DeSalle shook his head slowly. "I'm fast losing patience, madam. The price I want is there." He jerked his head in Pride's direction. "Have you ever seen a man begging to die? The Huron will cut his scalp from his head and pile live coals over his brains."

  "Stop it," Kate begged. "That's inhuman. You can't let them—"

  "Let them?" He laughed. "I'll pay them to do it, as long as I can watch. Ashton will take a long, long, time to die... and he'll be in hell long before he does."

  Pride was bound hand and foot, although Kate protested that he was too ill to attempt escape. DeSalle permitted her to feed him and to dress the wound on his head. A quick death was not what he pl
anned for Pride. Kate lived hour by hour and tried not to think of what might happen in the days to come.

  At night, she slept beside him, without blanket or fur, even on the night it rained.

  "It's your own choice, madam," DeSalle had mocked. "You are welcome in my tent."

  She had chosen the cold mud gladly. Pride was regaining his strength, although they went to great pains to keep their captors from realizing it. Kate continued to brave the Hurons to obtain fresh meat. She knew Pride must eat, no matter the risk.

  On the third morning, Kate was at the riverbank, rinsing out DeSalle's remaining shirt, when a party of horsemen emerged from the forest. A Huron brave called out, and DeSalle came from the tent to greet the visitors.

  A man about fifty with gray hair, wearing the uniform of a French officer, dismounted and shook Andre's hand. The stranger looked in Kate's direction and asked a question. DeSalle answered with a shrug, and they went into the tent. Kate noticed that the older man limped when he walked.

  An olive-skinned man in buckskins remained on his horse, as did the four Indians with him. Kate couldn't tell what tribe they belonged to. They wore their hair long and affected a mixture of white and Indian clothing. Their skins were darker than the Hurons, and they seemed somewhat apprehensive.

  Kate shook out the wet shirt and started back toward the tent. A Huron brave blocked her path and shook his head menacingly. "DeSalle wants his shirt," Kate said stubbornly. The brave raised the butt of his rifle, and she backed off. "It's nothing to me." She tossed it on the ground and returned to the river.

  With the gourd full, she carried it to the trees where Pride was tied. He was bound to a hickory at the neck and waist, with his wrists and ankles tied in front of him. His back was to DeSalle's tent. Kate described the newcomers as best she could.

  "Did they see you?"

  She nodded. "He asked Andre who I was."

  Pride frowned. "You two are on a first-name basis now?"

  "For God's sake! Would you prefer I called him captain?"

  "I'd prefer you not wash his laundry! Or cook his meals! He's a pig! Stay clear of him." He cursed under his breath. "Damn it, woman. Don't be fooled by a pretty face. He's a killer."

  "You're jealous of DeSalle? Pride! Listen to you! Have you forgotten I'm his prisoner? Just because I'm not tied... How can you think...?" She shook her head. "You'd be dead now if I hadn't... Ohhh!" She balled her fists tightly and tried to realize how he might feel, bound hand and foot, helpless, while she seemed to have the run of the camp.

  "I'm sorry," he admitted. "If I could see them, I might know who they are. Anything you hear, remember—no matter how insignificant it might seem. See if you can find out who the half breed with the Frenchman is or what tribe the Indians are from. The French are raising the hostiles against the settlers all up and down the Ohio valley. Maryland and Virginia will be hit hard. You can write off western Pennsylvania if the Colonies don't send out their own militias." Pride leaned back against the tree. A muscle jumped on the side of his jaw; the blood drained from his tight lips. "If we get away, Kate, we might save a few lives."

  "What do you mean if?" She forced a laugh. "How many people walk off the platform at Tyburn? My father said I was born lucky." She tried to keep her tone light.

  "A man's luck doesn't last forever... or a woman's either. If you get a choice, go with the Huron. The Iroquois are devils, but they don't rape women or torture them. You'd be better off dead than with DeSalle."

  "Why did you do it?" She crouched close to him. "Cut DeSalle? You must have had a reason. Was it over a woman?"

  "Yes. And that's the last you'll hear about it. Never ask me again."

  Kate recoiled from the naked pain in his eyes. "You expect me to deal with the man, but won't tell me. It's not fair." She noted fresh blood seeping through the bandage. "Your wound has reopened. Let me see it."

  "Let it be."

  "But it was healing so well! What did you do to—"

  "I didn't do anything. One of DeSalle's playmates hit me." Kate jumped up. "No! Sit down and shut up. Keep your head, woman. You'll get us both killed by acting like a fool. A cuff on the head's not worth confronting them over. The Frenchman's the one to worry about."

  "You keep saying that, but he hasn't treated me so terribly. He may have changed since... since then. You're not yourself, Pride; you're hurt. Hurt bad. Maybe you aren't thinking straight. I could try to convince him to ransom us. We're civilians, not military," she reasoned.

  "Damn it, woman! If I could get my hands on you, I'd throttle you. You're making judgments on something you are totally ignorant of. I know what I'm talking about!" He twisted his wrists against the leather straps until blood ran down his arms. "If you could just get me a knife..."

  "Don't." Kate caught his wrist and held it. "Don't hurt yourself anymore. I'll try and get a weapon."

  "What have we here?"

  Kate whirled at the voice. It was the light-skinned man who rode with the French officer. She glared at him. Whoever he was, he made her skin crawl. His buckskins were filthy with grease and dirt, and his long hair looked alive with vermin. Tobacco juice dribbled down the scraggly beard.

  "Are you DeSalle's private stock or free for the takin'?" He leered, showing a broken front tooth. "It's been a while since I seen such quality as you, gal." He slid down from the pinto horse and came toward her.

  "Run!" Pride warned. He threw himself against the rawhide ropes.

  Kate stood her ground until the man was an arm's length away from her, then ducked past him and grabbed for the rifle on his saddle. Pulling it free, she turned and raised the barrel. The half breed caught the rifle and twisted it from her grip. Kate kicked at him and ran. She covered a dozen yards, and he was on her, throwing her to the ground.

  Cursing, she clawed at his eyes, and he cuffed her violently alongside the head. Kate tasted blood as her tooth sliced the inside of her cheek. His weight pressed her to the ground; a rough hand pawed beneath her skirt. Terror seized her as the realization set in; he meant to rape her, here and now. Fear lent her strength, and she drove the palm of her hand upward to smash against his nose. He hit her with his fist, and her head slammed back, jarring her senses. From a long ways away, she heard Pride screaming. A harsh mouth ground against hers, and the stink of the beast clogged her nostrils.

  Pinning her wrists with one muscular arm, he fumbled with his trousers with his free hand. She tried to bring her knee up to strike him in the groin. It was impossible to breathe! The broken tooth gouged her lip; a thick tongue forced its way into her protesting mouth.

  A grotesque hardness pressed against her thigh. He pulled the deerskin dress up over her hips and she screamed, "No!"

  An explosion, inches from her head, rocked the ground. "Let her up," a quiet voice commanded. "Or the next shot will not miss."

  The weight rolled off, and Kate lay there, sobbing. Rolling into a tight ball, she pulled the dress down to cover her nakedness. She couldn't control the spasms of ragged weeping.

  "Back to your master, dog." A second shot rang out.

  The half breed fell, clutching his shattered knee. Blood poured over the leaves, and the man's screams shocked Kate to silence. "My leg!" he howled. "My leg! You killed me!"

  A hand pulled Kate up. "My regrets, madam. I assured you that you were under my protection here."

  She caught her breath and wiped at the bleeding mouth, her eyes drawn to the writhing man on the ground. Pieces of bone and muscle protruded from the ruin of his leg. She covered her mouth and tried to hold back her nausea.

  Straightening, she wiped away the tears. "Thank you," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. A strangled sob caught her attention, and she turned to look at Pride.

  His face seemed carved of granite, the hawk eyes fierce with blood lust. She ran to him and threw herself against his chest.

  Tears ran from the blue eyes. "I was so frightened," she cried hoarsely. "Oh, Pride." She drew back. He might have bee
n part of the tree. There was no gentle comforting, no word of love.

  "Get away from me," he snarled. "I can't help you. Go to your hero, DeSalle."

  Kate recoiled from the bitterness in his eyes. "What would you have me do? Spread my legs for that animal, rather than take help from DeSalle? What do you want of me?" She turned and walked to the river to wash her swollen face. There would be no more tears. She locked the pain and terror inside. Her happiness was coming apart thread by thread. If Pride didn't love her anymore, nothing mattered.

  She waded into the water. Loud voices in French came from the edge of the trees. DeSalle and his fellow officer were arguing, probably about the shooting. She wished he had shot him in the head. From the looks of his knee, this was probably worse. If the leg wasn't amputated, and soon, the man would die a slow, painful death.

  She wanted to strip off her dress and scrub her body with wet sand and water. She felt dirty. If that creature had raped her, she wasn't sure she could have stood it. The bruises on her face and body were nothing. They would heal. The real hurt was inside. She had done everything she could, fought with every ounce of her strength, and it had been useless. Without DeSalle... She shuddered at the thought.

  They were on the trail within an hour. DeSalle's tent and belongings were carried on packhorses. Kate rode close behind the Frenchman, hands free, ankles tied beneath the horse's belly, with a lead line on the animal. Pride walked, a rope around his neck, arms bound behind him. Kate's pleas that he was too badly hurt went unheeded.

  "Let him ride with me, please," she begged. "If his head starts bleeding again, he'll die."

  "He will die anyway, Kathryn. To bleed to death is not an unpleasant way to go, believe me." DeSalle slowed his horse and leaned out to touch her arm. "It is time to reassess your loyalties. You are badly in need of a protector. You could do much worse." His face hardened. "I could have let that breed have you. Are you free of disease, madam? I can assure you that you would not have been after he was finished with you."

  Kate turned her face away. To give him the reply she wished would only put Pride in great danger. "I love him," she said quietly. "I can't forget him so easily."