Simon was no longer able to whip up his anger to crowd the heavy worry and dread from his mind. He knew his only hope of finding her alive was to stay on the trail and pray that he caught up with her and her abductors before they caught up with the rest of their party.
At night, while attempting to rest, he relived every minute of the time he’d spent with her. It haunted him now, the way she had returned his kisses and pushed her trusting young body against his. Beset with loneliness, his thoughts turned inward. He thought back to the evening he first saw Berry bending over the cookfire. He felt once again her difference from all other woman—her boundless pride, the stubbornness of her will, and her deep-rooted integrity. There is much more to Berry Warfield than her startling beauty, he decided solemnly.
Simon was not naive enough to believe in love at first sight. He was not even sure he knew what this thing called love was all about. He’d only heard about it. But it was reasonable to believe it could not flower until the seed had been fertilized with understanding and nurtured by acceptance. It seemed that Berry had neither understood nor accepted him, or she would have been waiting for his return.
Did he love her? He felt a strong animal hunger when he was near her, but he didn’t regard that physical urge as a sign of love. He’d had that feeling before. But right from the start he’d felt a need to help Berry. He thought about that fact very carefully; that, and the happiness he felt when he was with her. She made him laugh, made his heart sing.
God, what a fool he’d been to think he wanted her merely as a nucleus around which to build a family. It was torture now to think he had laughed when she had said she wanted love. At last he realized the truth about his feelings for her, and it was a truth that was both frightening and exhilarating. His feeling for her was deep and eternal, and it bound him forever to this girl who had first touched his heart.
“Goddammit!” he hissed under his breath. “Why was I such a fool? Why didn’t I just marry her when Fain married Rachel?”
He dozed and his dreams were filled with haunting memories of silky black curls spilling down on snowy-white shoulders, clinging arms, and firm young breasts. Strange, pleading green eyes looked out of the darkness and begged him to hurry.
At daylight he saddled his horse. When I find her, he vowed silently, I’ll keep her with me always.
At noon he found traces of a bivouac of the preceding night and knew he was closing the gap. This time care had been taken to remove the sign. Wilted leaves on an overhanging branch were evidence that a fire had been built beneath them. A careful search revealed rabbit hair at a spot beside the spring where the grass was trampled down, and where a knife had stabbed the earth. Droppings from the mare indicated the direction in which they had gone.
The heat became blistering. Swarms of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes plagued him. He paced himself and conserved his strength and that of his horse as he followed the trail of the Shawnee braves and Berry.
As he traveled deeper into the wilderness Simon was quick to note that the braves were becoming increasingly careless again and made no attempt to cover their trail. Finally Simon surmised that they were traveling at night. Their haste made Simon uneasy. He was almost sure they were hurrying to meet a larger party.
At dusk one evening he detected the odor of a wood fire. He slowed his horse to a cautious walk. Taking care to make no noise, he glided through the trees, his rifle cocked and ready for instant use. When he heard the sounds of shouting and raucous laughter in the distance, he dismounted, tied his horse, and crept toward the edge of the woods. The noise became louder, and soon he saw that a clearing lay beyond the trees and brush. He crept closer, moving at a snail’s pace. A bright glow told him that a cookfire was burning.
He crouched behind the trunk of a giant oak. The first thing he saw was Berry. The sight of her was both startling and sickening. Her thick black hair hung in a tangle down her back. She wore nothing at all except her thin shift. Her hands were tied behind her back with a thong, and she looked as if she was about to drop in her tracks. Her captors had doused her with water so that her shift clung to her young body like a second skin, revealing rosy-tipped breasts and the dark patch between her thighs. Her captors were forcing her to dance around the campfire.
Shouting and leaping, two braves danced in and out of the firelight and around Berry as she was forced to keep pace with them. Another Indian and two squaws sat cross-legged on the ground. Although the language was impossible for Simon to understand, he knew they were heaping insults on her. However, verbal abuse was the least of her torments.
One of the braves, one with the ugliest face Simon had ever seen, reached with both hands for her breasts. When she jerked away from him and tried to kick him, the other brave wrapped his hand with her hair, forcing her to stand and endure the rough fondling. When the dancing resumed, a fat squaw lashed at her legs with a makeshift whip of supple vine. She cried out in anguish and the entire party became still more excited and howled with laughter.
Simon shielded his eyes from the glare of the fire. Attempting to close his mind to the pain Berry was forced to endure, he made a careful assessment of the camp. In addition to the two braves who were dancing, a third was sitting quietly beside the fire, and another lay in the grass beside the ragged, ill-kept tepee.
The two squaws, both fairly young, rose to their feet. One was wearing Berry’s dress, the other her shoes and stiff-brimmed bonnet. The one in the shoes fell and lay in the grass giggling. She reached for a bag and squirted some of its contents into her mouth.
They were drinking fermented berry juice! The two squaws and the old Indian beside the fire were drunk. Simon didn’t know about the one lying in the grass or the two who danced beside the fire. He was sure the two dancing braves were working themselves into a frenzy and that he’d have to act soon.
He steeled himself to the sound of Berry’s cries as the squaws continued to lash her. The situation was discouraging. He had one shot and the knife. He’d not have a chance to reload before they were on him unless he could take them by surprise and take out at least two of them. Berry’s sobs increased his sense of helpless frenzy while he tried to form a plan of action. He had little fear of the squaws, but four braves were more than he could handle at the moment, and he couldn’t stand by and wait for them to tire of their play and bed down.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A few spatters of rain fell. The wind picked up and sent sparks from the fire flying off into the night. Simon backed off, circled the camp, and came up behind the tepee. Carefully he cut the leather lacing until the skins were hanging on the poles. On his hands and knees he crawled to where the brave lay sleeping in the grass. In one quick, dispassionate movement, he drew his knife across the brave’s throat, stopping his drunken snores.
A crack of thunder sounded and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. The storm was moving swiftly, and a strong wind, hot and humid, suddenly sprang up, making the loose skins flap on the poles. It’s too much to hope the wind will blow the skins toward the fire and cause a diversion, Simon thought. The Indians seemed indifferent to the approaching storm.
Simon circled the camp again and came as close to Berry as possible. She lay prostrate on the ground, the women capering around her. He dropped to his knee and chose his target. The ugly Indian seemed to be the most dangerous. Just as more thunder shook the heavens he squeezed off a shot. The Indian clutched his chest and dropped to his knees, then stretched out in the grass. Simon waited for the confusion he was sure would follow. He could scarcely believe his good fortune when he realized that none of the others were aware of what had happened. Simon’s shot had been lost in the boom of thunder. He quickly opened his powder bag and prepared to reload. At that moment the earth shook as a crack of thunder split the sky. A deluge of rain drenched the entire area. He grabbed for the bag. Too late! His powder would be too wet to use for many hours. The downpour reduced the fire to a few faint embers, then darkness.
Simon had
no opportunity to develop a plan of assault. He was barely able to see. He knew the two braves were similarly hampered. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he sprang into the clearing.
“Ye . . . ooo! Run, Berry! For God’s sake, run!”
He reversed his hold on his rifle and, grasping it by the barrel, swung the butt in a vicious arc, gambling that the braves would be unable to discharge their weapons. He was wrong. A bullet sang past his ear, but his initial gamble paid off as the butt of his rifle connected with the side of the brave’s head. The man doubled over.
The wind came howling through the trees, sending the skins from the tepee into the fray, swishing and swirling. Simon ran to Berry and with a single slash of his knife cut the bonds that held her wrists.
At that instant one of the squaws landed on Simon’s back and sent him sprawling in the mud. He rolled over in an attempt to shake off the determined woman. She was biting and kicking and her hands wound in his hair. He didn’t want to kill her, but he had to get rid of her! He grabbed her hair, pulled her face around, and hit her with all his strength. She loosened her hold and fell limply to the ground.
The lightning came again, followed by thunder and more lightning. He saw Berry on her feet. The wind catapulted her toward him. He grabbed her arm and together they stumbled back to where he had dropped his rifle when the squaw attacked him. The rain was coming down so hard that it was impossible to see more than a few feet. He half-dragged, half-led the dazed girl toward the forest.
“Can you run?” he shouted.
It had all happened so fast that Berry hadn’t until now realized who had rescued her. Recognition, combined with her fear of the Indians, galvanized her into action. She ran far faster than she had ever believed herself capable of. Several times she stumbled and fell, but Simon hauled her to her feet and they ran on. The rain continued, making the night so black that it took Simon some time to find his horse. But at last they found him in a grove of maples, indifferent to the downpour.
Simon climbed into the saddle and pulled Berry up behind him. Her arms encircled his waist and she pressed her face to his back. Flash followed flash of lightning and the thunder crashed continuously. The wind tore at her hair and the icy rain poured over her. She leaned gratefully against Simon, her breasts pressed tightly to his back and her face buried in his sodden shirt. He moved the horse recklessly through the dense forest. Berry didn’t know how he had found her or where they were going. All that mattered to her was that he was here. This was her man. He had come for her!
It seemed like hours had passed and still the rain came down. Simon kept the big stallion moving at a steady pace. Then the storm was moving away, the thunder and lightning came less frequently, but the rain continued to fall. Grayness crept into the forest as daylight struggled to establish itself. Simon turned the horse, urged him up a rocky incline, and moved in under the overhang of a bluff. He stopped.
Berry was shivering almost uncontrollably and he had to pull apart her clasped hands so that he could dismount. He lifted her down and held her close to his side while he led the horse through a narrow opening in the side of the rocky bluff. They entered a shallow cave, out of the wind and rain.
“I’m sure they won’t follow us while it rains. It’ll give me time to dry my powder.” He pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around her. Then he wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or beat you.” His big hands wiped the rain from her face and wrung the water from her streaming hair. “I’ve got to tend the horse and get a fire going.”
Berry’s body ached with cold, her feet and legs almost numb, but the glowing warmth inside her and the wonder of the words whispered hoarsely in her ear—if in fact she’d heard them correctly—were too precious to allow the misery in her body to overshadow the moment.
Simon pulled the saddle from the horse and with his hands rubbed the water from his slick coat. The animal moved obediently when Simon pushed him to stand with his rear to the entrance of the cave. In the gloomy light Berry watched as Simon raked up dry leaves that had drifted into the enclosure. He heaped them in a pile along with some small twigs, then struck a spark with his flint, and soon a small blaze appeared.
“I’ll find some wood. Keep it goin’.”
Shivering, and keeping her jaws clenched to keep her teeth from chattering, Berry knelt by the small flame and fed it with the twigs the wind had blown against the stone wall. When Simon returned, she backed away and watched him strip the wet bark from the dead branches he’d brought in. He didn’t look at her or even acknowledge her presence until the fire was blazing steadily and he had rolled a large flat stone up close to the flame.
“When the stone gets warm, I’ll move it out and lay my powder sack on it. I’ve got to dry the powder so we can defend ourselves if the Indians follow us. I don’t think we have anything to worry about as long as it continues to rain, and maybe not even then. It looks like it’s set in to rain all day. I hope so. It will give us a chance to dry out.”
Simon stood, and for the first time Berry saw him clearly. His thick black hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, was dripping wet. His deep-set eyes looked black as night, but she knew they were dark blue, just as she knew his skin was sun-coppered beneath the black beard that shadowed his cheeks.
“Simon . . .”
“We’ve got to get you dry and warm or you might come down with a roaring case of the ague.” He reached for the blanket and pulled it away from her trembling body. “Pull off that wet thing and I’ll wrap you up again.”
“But . . .”
“No arguing, Berry. Take it off.”
Berry complied, reluctantly.
He enfolded her in the blanket the instant her wet garment left her body. He wrung the water from the shift and hung it on a branch he had dragged in to burn. Then he pulled off his shirt and spread it out to dry.
Berry stood beside the fire feeling awkward and shy. She heard the rain splashing against the boulder at the entrance of the cave. When Simon pulled her down onto the blanket he had spread on the sandy floor, her knees buckled and she almost fell.
“Simon, I’ve got to say . . . I’m sorry.” Her jaws shook when she spoke.
As if realizing how chilled she was, he knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. The heaven of being held close, her face in the warmth of his neck, was too much. Tears spurted and she tried desperately to control them. All the pain and the humiliation she had suffered, and the rescue by Simon when she had despaired of living through the night, flooded her in a backwash of emotion. She cried, with her mouth against his neck.
“Hush. Hush, darlin’,” he crooned and rocked her gently in his arms. “Shhh . . . You’ve got to tell me about them so I’ll know what to expect.” His warm mouth moved over her wet face. “Ahhh . . . sweet girl, my whiskers will scratch your sweet face.”
Berry’s arm crept out of the blanket and around his neck. Delightful sensations ran through the whole of her being, bringing joy—a consummation of all the yearning dreams she had ever dreamed.
“I don’t care about the whiskers. I don’t care. Kiss me, Simon. . . .”
His lips moved from her cheek, and she knew they were coming to meet hers even before she felt their touch. Slowly, deliberately, his mouth covered hers, pressing gently at first while he slowly sank down onto the blanket and pulled her onto his lap. His kiss deepened and she leaned into it, floating in a sea of sensuality where in a dreamlike state she hovered against his masculine strength. His lips were seeking, and she automatically parted hers in invitation. The touch of his tongue at the corner of her mouth was persuasive rather than demanding, and she gave herself up to the waves of emotion crashing over her.
The soft utterance that came from her throat was a purr of pure pleasure when he expanded the kiss with a pressure that sought deeper satisfaction. The fever of her passion excited him and he tried to meet it with restrained response.
Berry felt he
r mind whirl and her nerves become acutely sensitized with the almost overwhelming need to melt into him and ease the ache of her aroused body. Caught in the throes of desire, she pressed against him, her arm winding around his neck with surprising strength.
Resisting the pressure around his neck, Simon lifted his head and looked down at her. The face beneath his was pale and beautiful, still and waiting. Her breath came quickly and was cool on his lips, made wet by her kiss.
“Berry, you’re the damnedest woman ever created, and the . . . sweetest,” he said in a raspy whisper. His hand moved to the nape of her neck and his fingers lifted her wet hair.
“Does that mean you’re not . . . angry with me?”
“No, it doesn’t mean that at all. I’m so mad at you that I want to beat you! But . . . I want to kiss you, too.”
“I said I was sorry,” she said, trying to collect her scattered senses.
“Being sorry wouldn’t matter, Berry, if we were dead.” He pulled slightly away, yet she was still in his arms, her head still resting on his shoulder. He was speaking smoothly, reasonably, with no censure in his voice. “You and I are going to have to come to an understanding, Berry. I’ll not tolerate your headstrong behavior. You’ll listen to what I say and you’ll act accordingly. It was a miracle I found you when I did. It was a miracle the storm struck and I was able to get you out of that camp. You would’ve been raped before the night was over.” Now his voice became sharper, more anxious. “Now I want you to tell me everything, starting at the time you left Fain’s.”
Tears filled Berry’s eyes—the result of nerves strung taut by her ordeal and his onslaught on her senses. She was disappointed by his obvious refusal to accept her apology after they had shared the sweetness of the kiss.
Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] Page 21