Brand 6
Page 5
He smiled. ‘That’s what it feels like.’
Brand realized they had been static for too long. He pointed to a stand of trees on the far side of the sweeping lawn.
‘Stay close and keep moving. Doesn’t matter what you hear. Don’t stop until we’re under cover.’
They eased away from the shadows of the house. Once they were out in the open, crossing the smooth, flat lawn, it felt as if the eyes of the world were on them. Nothing happened. They reached the trees without incident, dropping to the ground to regain their breath.
‘God, Jason, how long do we have to keep this up?’
‘Only until we find out where they’re taking those guns.’
Sarah sighed with resignation.
‘Serves me right for asking!’
Chapter Six
Beauregard St Clair’s rage was overwhelming. He could hardly believe that both the man known as Colter and the girl had gone. He lost control for a time, raging about the house in a blind fury. Too much was at stake to let anything happen now. His mind worked furiously. He realized he needed to think clearly. To plan ahead. And gradually his anger subsided, leaving him cold and back in control. He returned to his study and called for Parker Royce.
‘Well?’
Royce stood before him, humiliation showing on his face. There was a great open gash across the left side of his jaw. St Clair decided that Royce’s mental hurt pained him more than the physical wound.
‘They’ve gone into the bayou. We picked up their tracks but lost them once they reached the swamp.’
‘He’ll be following the wagon,’ St Clair said. ‘Trying to find the cache. He’s made his mistake, Parker. The bayous run for miles. A stranger will wander round them forever.’ He smiled. ‘We might not need to waste any bullets on them. The swamp will kill them for us. But let’s be sure. Send in the dogs. I want to be certain they don’t fall lucky. If Colter finds the cache and by some chance gets away ... I don’t think I have to spell it out for you.’
‘No, Colonel,’ Royce said. He turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back. ‘I let you down tonight, Colonel. Saying sorry won’t change it, but it won’t happen again.’
‘We’ll say no more about it, Parker. Every man is entitled to one mistake. But only one!’
St Clair’s words were still echoing around inside Royce’s head as he left the house. The men were already assembled and he gave his orders quickly. The hounds were brought from the kennels, baying eagerly as they sensed a hunt ahead. Royce watched the group as they moved away from the house, heading for the dark, primeval bayou. It lay out beyond the estate like some evil living organism. Royce didn’t like the bayou. It terrified him, though he would never have admitted as much to any living person. Whenever he had to enter the shadowed gloom of the swamp he went cold, dreading every step that took him deeper into the place.
As the sound of the departing men faded, the barking of the savage hounds hanging on the chill air, Royce returned to the house. He wanted to tend the wound on his face before he followed the men. His room was at the rear of the house. It was small and sparsely furnished, but it served its needs. Royce didn’t set much store by personal possessions. Money and power were not the driving force of his existence.
Reaching his room he stepped inside.
As he turned from closing the door he sensed he was not alone. Royce dropped his hand to the butt of the revolver in his belt.
‘You won’t need that, Parker.’
By the light of the oil lamp on the dresser Royce picked out the shape of Lucilla St Clair. He relaxed, letting down the hammer of the revolver. He laid it on the dresser, noticing that Lucilla had brought along a bowl of warm water and bandages. Nor did he fail to notice the thin robe she was wearing so casually. Parker Royce had been aware of her close attention for some time, and though he often experienced sexual feelings for her he contained them. He was after all only an employee and it was wise to temper personal desire with a degree of caution.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Lucilla. I guess I’m a little edgy. Been a hectic night so far.’
She smiled.
‘I’d call that an understatement, Parker. Shooting. Killing. Now that man and Sarah Debenham are looking for the guns hidden in the bayou. I’d hazard to say it’s been a sight more than hectic’
‘I guess you’re right, Miss Lucilla.’ ‘The night isn’t over yet, Parker. Now sit down while I clean up your face. And for God’s sake stop calling me Miss Lucilla. Do it when father’s around if you need to. But not when we’re alone. Damnit, Parker, I’ve seen the way you look at me, and it isn’t as the lady of the house.’
She moistened clean cotton and gently wiped the gash on his face. Her touch was light, her closeness a pleasure. The perfume she wore filled his nostrils with its fragrance and Royce felt a stirring in his loins. She was right of course. He wanted her. Badly. But there was a barrier between them, keeping him at a distance. Right now it made things difficult. The thin robe she wore clung to her body, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was naked beneath it.
‘There,’ she said finally. ‘You’ll live long enough to settle with that Yankee!’
Royce caught her gaze. The tone of her voice surprised him. There was hate there, directed at the man named Colter.
‘Do you think Sarah was in league with him?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I can hardly believe it. A titled English lady consorting with a Yankee gunman. A killer. I would have believed she had more in common with us.’
‘I don’t know,’ Royce said. ‘She’s your friend.’
‘I thought she was.’ Lucilla replied. ‘Now I’m not so sure.’
She leaned back against the table, deliberately allowing the robe to part and expose her sleek thighs. She stared at him, a playful smile edging her full lips.
‘Don’t tell me you were bewitched by her, Parker. Not that I blame you. She is beautiful. Wouldn’t you agree?’
He leaned toward her.
‘No. You’re the beauty.’ He paused, then added: ‘Lucilla.’
‘Well, my oh my,’ she breathed softly.
She straightened up, easing the robe open and letting it slip from her silky shoulders. She stood before him totally naked. Her flesh was smooth and flawlessly white. Ripe, full breasts stirred with her breathing, dark nipples erect.
‘Parker, I do believe the South is about to rise again,’ she whispered huskily.
He rose and went to her, drawing her close, aware of her lush softness thrusting against his own surging hardness. He kissed her roughly, hearing her moan as she slid her arms around him.
‘No more lonely nights, Parker Royce. For either of us.’
He carried her to his bed and laid her down, then removed his clothes and slid alongside her. Her slender fingers were eager and bold, touching and holding him, encouraging him. Royce’s desire gathered and took control and he lost himself in her scented softness. In the closeness of that small room he devoured her with his passion and Lucilla returned that passion with her own.
Chapter Seven
The bayou was another world!
It was like stepping into the distant past when prehistoric man had just learned to stand upright. A place where time seemed to have stood still and threatened to stay that way for eternity. Everything crowded in on its neighbor. Twisted trees and thick vegetation packed together in tangled masses. So thick in places that pushing through was an impossibility. Fern and swamp grass, cypress, oak and aspen grew in dense stands, connected by the heavy vines that looped and coiled over branches and around trunks, snaking along the ground. Spanish moss clung to the trees, hanging in green fronds. The overall impression was of green lushness underlaid by decay. The air was humid. Dampness clinging to everything. Underfoot the ground felt soft. Spongy. In the gloom it was difficult to determine whether a patch of green was solid ground or thick scum floating on the surface of a brackish pool. The whole bayou seemed to be floating on a lake of still water.
He spotted a huge, gnarled oak, its massive roots rising out of the sodden earth like twisted limbs. They crawled in amongst them, trying to make themselves comfortable despite the chill rain. Sarah pressed close to him, hoping to gain some warmth from his body.
She had barely spoken since they had left the house, following his instructions without comment or protest, and it was this more than anything that caused Brand’s regret at having involved her at all. He knew she wouldn’t complain — he wished she would. His main concern was that she might get hurt. By now St Clair would have Sarah down as Brand’s accomplice. He’d read enough from the man’s file to know that St Clair wouldn’t hesitate at harming a woman. Brand cursed inwardly. He had made a bad decision bringing Sarah along. At the outset it had seemed the easiest way of getting an invitation to St Clair’s home. It had been a decision based on McCord’s orders that he wanted the matter clearing up as quickly as possible. It didn’t excuse his reasoning.
Brand drew Sarah closer. She pushed against him. Her acceptance of their situation only increased his guilty feelings. After a while Brand felt a taut smile curl his mouth. McCord’s instructions had been for discretion to be the watchword. Already violence and death had thrust their way into the game, and Brand had been on the receiving end of some rough treatment.
The problem with McCord was he spent too much time in Washington. Diplomacy wasn’t high on the agenda as far as the Brotherhood was concerned. They only understood one thing. Direct action.
He shivered. It seemed to be getting colder. The rain was heavier. They were already soaked and muddy, but by now beyond caring. Sarah wrapped her arms around him, head down on his chest. Her steady breathing told Brand she was asleep.
The dawn was a long time coming. Brand dozed fitfully. He tried to stay alert in case any of St Clair’s men happened on them. The only good thing about the rain was the fact that it would wash away the tracks left by Brand and Sarah. It would make tracking them that much harder.
In the early hours he heard the distant baying of hounds. St Clair had his men and dogs looking for them. The sounds faded. The only consolation was that St Clair’s men would be wet and cold too.
Brand watched the grey dawn breaking over the green canopy of the bayou. The rain slackened off as the darkness faded. Beside him Sarah still slept. He eased her aside and climbed to his feet, stiff and aching, eyes bleary. He was still feeling the effects of the beating he’d taken the previous night. Moving into the open he spent fruitless minutes trying to locate their position. It was impossible. There was no point of contact. The bayou looked the same in every direction. He just had no idea where they were, and felt damned foolish about it. Drop him in the middle of the New Mexico badlands and he’d locate himself without even trying. Out here in this green hellhole he was lost.
He went back to Sarah, saw she was awake, eyes regarding him seriously.
‘I’ve been dreaming we’re lost in the bayou,’ she said. ‘Seems it’s true.’ She studied her grubby hands. Ran fingers through her matted hair. ‘Next time you decide to ask for a favor, Jason Brand, please don’t.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
She scowled briefly. Shook her head. ‘How about telling me to quit grumbling?’
He leaned over and kissed her quickly. ‘We’d better move out.’
The sound reached them at that precise moment. Someone moving through the heavy undergrowth. Sarah glanced at Brand, a question beginning to form on her lips. He waved her to silence. Pulling the revolver from his belt Brand moved towards the sound.
The man was alone. He carried a rifle. Though he moved with the confidence of a man at ease with his surroundings there was nervousness in his face. He plainly didn’t like the idea of creeping around the bayou on the trail of a known hostile fugitive. His unease made him vulnerable and Brand used that to his advantage. He closed on the man, reaching him unseen and pressed the Colt’s muzzle against the side of the man’s head.
‘Breathe easy, friend, it’ll keep you alive longer,’ Brand advised, reaching to take the man’s rifle. Over his shoulder he called to Sarah.
She came to his side. Brand passed her the rifle, then searched the man for additional weapons. Found a holstered revolver and a sheathed knife.
‘Take off the coat,’ Brand told his captive. He took the offered garment and handed it to Sarah. She slipped it on gratefully. ‘Turn round, friend,’ Brand said.
The man did as he was told. His expression was sullen, but any anger he carried he kept suppressed, because he knew how much this man had done already and he had no desire to become the next casualty.
‘Easy question,’ Brand said. ‘How many others are there looking for us?’
The man shrugged. ‘Seven. Eight. Maybe more. Ain’t certain.’
‘Dogs still out?’
The man shook his head. ‘They took ‘em back a while ago. Couldn’t pick up a scent.’
‘One more question, friend, and I figure you already know what it is. Just make sure you answer right.’
Despite his reservations not to make things difficult for himself the man shook his head stubbornly.
‘No way I’m telling you where the cache is.’
Brand didn’t even think about what he did. He simply slammed the barrel of the revolver down across the bridge of the man’s nose. Bone cracked and blood spurted down the front of the man’s shirt. He gasped in pain, pulling back, but not fast enough to avoid Brand’s fist. It clubbed him across the jaw and drove him to his knees. He knelt in the wet mud, groaning.
‘I can keep this up as long as you want,’ Brand said.
The man stared up at him, blinking tears of pain from his eyes. ‘I’m a dead man if St Clair finds out I talked.’
‘Friend, you can still be a dead man if you don’t talk.’
The man considered his options. If he did take this man to the cache he might still get out alive. There were guards at the hiding place. Maybe they could stop this crazy Northerner.
‘I’ll take you there,’ he said.
Brand hauled the man to his feet. He shoved both revolvers under his belt. Tucked the knife in the top of his boot and retrieved the rifle from Sarah.
‘Let’s move out.’
The man moved ahead of them, deeper into the bayou. He cast about for a while before he found his way, then settled into a steady walk, confident of his bearings. Brand saw no difference in their surroundings, except that they were walking on solid ground all the time. Their man obviously knew his way around the swamp.
They walked for a long time. The sun rose high overhead. Heat filtered down through the greenery. The steamy heat clung to them. Insects appeared in swarms, searching them out in droves. Out of sight things splashed in the dank waters.
They had been travelling for at least two hours when the man came to a dead stop.
‘There a problem?’ Brand asked, moving up behind the man, leaning the muzzle of the rifle against the man’s spine.
The man pointed. ‘The cache is just ahead. Big cave in back of a waterfall on the far side of a pool. You can hear the water.’
Brand noticed the sound now.
‘Any guards?’
‘No.’ The man’s answer came too quickly and Brand knew he was lying. St Clair wouldn’t have left a valuable cache of arms unprotected. The captive wanted Brand to walk in unaware.
‘Hey,’ Brand said softly.
When the man turned Brand whacked him across the head with the rifle, dropping him like a stone. Turning him on his face Brand stripped o
ff the man’s belt and tied his hands. He tore a strip of cloth from the unconscious man’s shirt and used it to gag him.
‘Maybe you should wait here,’ Brand suggested to Sarah.
The look in her eyes told him it was not a wise suggestion.
‘Come on then,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Let’s see if we can start the day with a bang.’
Chapter Eight
Crouching knee deep in brackish water Brand studied the movements of the two men guarding the entrance to the cave. It was fronted by a pool of sorts. A wide stretch of scummy water that seemed to be alive with swamp life. On the far side a rocky bluff, covered with greenery, rose high into the mass of trees, with a thin fall of water spilling over its rim. The water dropped straight down, shielding the mouth of the dark cave.
‘Jason,’ Sarah whispered.
‘What?’
‘I don’t want to make a fuss, but there appears to be a snake swimming this way.’
Brand took her arm and moved her aside. Thick mud lay beneath their feet, under the foul smelling water. Each time they took a step the disturbed slime released trapped gas. It rose to the surface, bubbling and releasing sulphurous fumes. They reached solid ground again and edged through the tangled undergrowth. Brand settled Sarah then returned to study the cave area again.
To one side of the cave was a crude hut. It appeared that St Clair had a permanent presence watching over the weapons cache.
He checked out his handguns, making sure they were both loaded. He handed the rifle back to Sarah.
‘Can you handle one of these?’
‘I can usually hit what I aim at,’ she said sharply. ‘But I’ve never had to shoot at a man before.’
‘I’m hoping you don’t have to. I just want you to stay here. Keep your ears and eyes open. If you do see anything that doesn’t look right use the damn rifle. Don’t think about it. Just shoot. You either want to stay alive or you don’t.’