Captive Bride

by Carol Finch

  "Did you feed her a potion so she would sleep away the winter?" Bear-Claw smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised after hearing how you've spent the past few months." Quietly, he closed the door and then plopped down on the bench outside the cabin. "While you're unloading the remainder of your supplies you can explain everything that has transpired since last we met."

  "I will be happy to ... as soon as you tell me why Aubrey DuBois has such a bitter hatred for the Baudelair clan," Hawk parried, his narrowed gaze holding Bear-Claw hostage.

  Bear-Claw's eyes took on a faraway look. Then, heaving a sigh, he nodded in compliance. "It's too late to undo the damage you have unwittingly done. But, yes, I will tell you why you have ignited DuBois' wrath, and why he thinks the Baudelairs have wronged him. I pity you, Hawk. Aubrey will never forgive and forget. I fear you have disturbed a sleeping lion."

  One of many, Hawk thought resentfully. Eventually he must contend with Aubrey, and there was Half-Head to consider. Hawk wondered if it would be a matter of time before that murdering white man came to finish what he had begun on the banks of the North Platte. Then his apprehension mounted as Bear-Claw unfolded the painful events of the past. Now DuBois' behavior made sense to Hawk. No wonder the man had flown into a sputtering rage. Bear-Claw's rendition of the incident that had embittered Aubrey assured Hawk that he and Rozalyn could have no future together, even if they wanted one, and despair closed in on him. He cursed himself for abducting this blue-eyed minx. Had he known of the tragic feud between the Baudelairs and DuBois, he never would have gone near Rozalyn. But he had, and the cross he was now forced to bear was as great as the one Aubrey labored under.

  Chapter 19

  A quiet, groggy moan echoed in the darkness as Rozalyn roused sluggishly, and her heavily lidded eyes circled the unfamiliar confines of the cabin. The rustic lodge was fifteen feet long, and its primitive walls were made of logs packed with mud and moss to prevent the drafty mountain wind from seeping inside. The split-log floor was randomly strewn with thick fur rugs to ward off the cool dampness; the ceiling above her was no more than a clapboard roof held together with wooden pins. Although the shack was crude there was a certain raw beauty to it.

  Rozalyn's hazy gaze settled on the fireplace and the blackened stone hearth. Silhouetted by the flames was the awesome form of a man in buckskins. Although his back was to her, she knew who her companion was, and she was most thankful he was the first living creature she saw upon awakening. Through her tormented dreams one thread of sanity had been a constant. She had continued to see Hawk's ruggedly handsome face. He had been there, just beyond the darkness, calling to her.

  "Hawk?" Her throaty voice drifted across the room, and Rozalyn managed a groggy smile when he swiveled around in his chair to peer at her. But suddenly a startled gasp burst from and her and she shrank away from the unfamiliar mountain man who rose and approached her. What had Hawk done to her now? Dumped her in a total stranger's lap while she recovered from her injuries? Damn the man. He hadn't shown her the smallest amount of consideration.

  "Where is Hawk and where am I?" Rozalyn asked.

  A broad grin split Bear-Claw's lips as his keen gaze swept over her shapely form. "Hawk brought you to his cabin after you were injured." His silent footsteps brought him to the edge of the cot, where he towered over his wary patient. The lovely young woman looked out of place on a crude bed made of split logs and softened only by a mattress stuffed with grass and leaves, but her exquisitely delicate face made Bear-Claw smile again. He knew why Hawk had been unable to leave this fetching young lass behind. She was a rare beauty.

  "Since Hawk was most anxious to set his beaver traps I offered to stay here with you while you were on the mend." His weathered hand brushed across her brow to ensure that her fever had ebbed. "My name is Bear-Claw. I have known Hawk since he was a skinny-legged pigeon fluttering around the forests. In fact, I can even boast that I taught the young stripling to be self-sufficient in these mountains. When I first began to instruct him, he couldn't shoot a lick. And what he did with a butcher knife was downright disgraceful. Couldn't skin a hide clean to save his life." Bear-Claw chuckled to himself. "But time has been good to Hawk. He learned quickly and has become proficient with a rifle and a knife. Although I proudly claim to have taught him to survive, and most successfully, I do not, however, take the blame for his foolishness. That, he must have acquired all by himself."

  Her companion seemed friendly enough—he'd very nearly talked her ears off in these few moments—still, Rozalyn eyed the bulky creature with extreme caution.

  Bear-Claw was the image of a mountain man, she noted. Around his neck dangled a necklace of claws, similar to those of the monstrous grizzly that had swatted at her head. No doubt, this was how the crusty pioneer had acquired his nickname. Coarse, bushy hair framed his weather-beaten features and dangled loosely about his broad shoulders, and his skin, due to constant exposure to the elements, was almost as dark as an Indian's. That and his sinewy physique gave him a rough, hardy appearance. His clothes were similar to Hawk's, but they were adorned with even more beads and polished bones. Although Bear-Claw looked as old as father time, Rozalyn doubted the man could have been so agile if he were as ancient as he appeared.

  Since Rozalyn was hesitant to speak, Bear-Claw rattled on in his usual, long-winded manner. "I cooked you some rabbit stew to warm your insides. Though it isn't my specialty, I have received a good many compliments from wayward travelers who have gone long days without nourishment. I don't imagine it compares to the delicacies you are accustomed to eating, but it will sustain you just the same. Shall I fetch you a bowl?"

  "Merci," Rozalyn murmured, forcing a meager smile.

  When Bear-Claw spun about and strode back to the kettle that hung over the hearth, she eased into an upright position. Stars swam before her eyes and the room tilted sideways, then threatened to slip out from under her. Deciding it best to remain abed until she had regained her equilibrium, Rozalyn wilted back to the cot.

  When Bear-Claw saw the raven-haired beauty sink back onto the fluffy mattress, he snickered softly. "Still a mite groggy, I suspect. 'Tis no matter, mam'selle. I've got no aversion to spoon-feeding my patient." When the mountain man had parked himself on a chair beside the bed, he dipped up some broth and offered it to his reluctant companion. "It isn't poison," he assured her with a gentle smile that melted the coarseness of his features. "If Hawk didn't trust me to nurse you he wouldn't have left you in my care. I know I'm not much to look at, but you need not fear for your safety. I never did take to manhandling women and I have no respect for those who do."

  When Bear-Claw graced her with his compassionate grin, Rozalyn relaxed a bit. Propping herself upon an elbow, she accepted the steamy broth. "It is very good," she complimented, and then opened her mouth to accept the next heaping spoonful Bear-Claw had waiting for her.

  "Didn't I tell you?" Bear-Claw beamed in satisfaction. "Wait until you sample my johnny-cakes and corn pone. The very aroma of them will set your mouth to watering, missy."

  While Rozalyn quietly sipped her porridge, Bear-Claw rambled on, skipping from one unrelated topic to another. The longer he talked, the less apprehensive Rozalyn became about sharing a cabin with the aging hunter. Slowly, she warmed to him, deciding that the mountain man was a mite windy but harmless.

  Now she knew where Hawk had heard his tall tales. Bear-Claw rattled off one story after another until drowsiness overcame her. Rozalyn eased back onto the bed and snuggled beneath the warm fur covering. Peacefully, she slept while Bear-Claw kept constant vigil over her.

  The longer he sat silently studying the blue-eyed beauty the more attached to her he became. It was easy to understand why Hawk had impulsively dragged this lovely creature of civilization back into the wilderness with him. Just peering into Rozalyn's bewitching features gave a man a warm feeling. Although Rozalyn could not remain here in the wilds forever, she could provide Hawk with memories to last a lifetime.

  A quiet sigh tum
bled from Bear-Claw's lips. It was a shame Hawk had not consulted him before venturing from the mountains. Hawk could have spared him the agony he'd feel upon surrendering this exquisite beauty to Aubrey. Although Hawk had discovered how it could be between a man and a woman, he must face the inevitable pain of losing this lovely creature. Bear-Claw found himself wondering if perhaps Hawk wouldn't have been better off with his freedom than living with the despair of knowing there was no future for him with Aubrey DuBois' daughter.

  "Of all the women in the world, why did Hawk have to get himself involved with this one?" Bear-Claw grumbled while he climbed the ladder to the loft where his pallet awaited him.

  Bear-Claw had never bothered to tell Hawk about the feud between DuBois and the Beaudelairs because he saw no need. Aubrey had dealt with Hawk at rendezvous, but he had never known the trapper's true name. That wasn't unusual. Almost every man who ventured into the mountains took a new name and a new identity. Bear-Claw hadn't thought it wise to stir up the painful past if it wasn't necessary, and things had been going well until Hawk had made the mistake of traveling to St. Louis. That was where the trouble had started. If Hawk had stayed put, Aubrey would have been none the wiser and the young woman would not have found herself caught in the crossfire of an undying feud.

  Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Bear-Claw wriggled beneath the fur robe. A clash between Aubrey and Hawk was inevitable. DuBois would never permit his daughter to be linked with a Beaudelair, not after all that had happened years ago. Hawk would have to accept harsh reality. Bear-Claw supposed that was one of the reasons the younger man had decided to spend a few weeks alone in the wilderness. He'd needed time to come to terms with the truth and to accept his fate. How many weeks would it take for Hawk to relinquish his obsession for this enticing beauty? And God forbid, what would happen if Hawk couldn't give Rozalyn up as he had promised to do in his ransom note to Aubrey?

  Confound it. If Hawk had listened to Bear-Claw's advice, he'd have been satisfied to live the life he'd made for himself in the mountains. But no, the lad was overeager, hot-blooded. He had an uncommon need to see progress and change. My God, Bear-Claw grunted sourly, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Hawk had invited homesteaders to journey into this wilderness to set up housekeeping! It was getting so a man couldn't live in harmony with nature without having neighbors breathing down his neck. Hawk lived twenty miles from Bear-Claw's crude cabin and that was close enough. A man needs his space, Bear-Claw mused. The closer he came to people, the more entangled his life became. Bear-Claw had seen enough tragedy and heartache, he wanted no part of it. He, too, was plagued by old, unhealed wounds, and they were much easier to tolerate when there was nothing or no one around to remind him of life as it had once been.

  For almost a full week Rozalyn enjoyed Bear-Claw's company. The dizziness had ebbed and her tender left ankle had begun to mend, thanks to the hermit's natural remedy. Although Rozalyn had no complaint about the meals Bear-Claw prepared for her or the long hours they spent conversing on a myriad of subjects, she was developing a severe case of cabin fever. She longed for activity, something to distract her from wondering when Hawk would return and whether he had missed her. Was he plagued by the same, discomforting loneliness that tormented her?

  "I would like to ask a favor," Rozalyn begged as she sipped a mug of Bear-Claw's own concoction—a brewed tea. Although it varied greatly from the drink Rozalyn had sampled in civilization, she had acquired a taste for the potion.

  "Anything," Bear-Claw generously offered. Then he leaned close to flash her a wry smile. "Anything except divulging my recipe for johnnycakes, that is."

  Rozalyn giggled at his teasing grin. "I wouldn't dare attempt to copy your special recipe. It is something else I request of you." Her lashes fluttered up to study his ruddy face. "Teach me to survive in the wild, just as you once taught Hawk. I feel inadequate in these mountains."

  Bear-Claw frowned pensively for a moment, grappling with her request. Finally, he nodded agreeably. "That is a great deal to learn in so little time, but we will make an effort."

  So Rozalyn's introduction to survival in the wild began. Bear-Claw patiently taught her to skin the game he brought in for their meals, and he gave her lessons on food preparation and storage, as well as instructions on sewing buckskin garments. Sewing was a skill Rozalyn had heretofore overlooked. Indeed, Bear-Claw was eager to share his knowledge until Rozalyn insisted that he teach her to become accurate with his rifle.

  After he watched Rozalyn take aim with the flintlock and consistently hit the targets he had set for her, he agreed to allow her to clutch his prized weapon. "Brace your legs and hold the rifle firmly against your shoulder," he instructed. "Hold it steady, and with authority. No, no, girl. I didn't say choke it!" Yanking the weapon away, he showed Rozalyn the proper way to cradle the rifle.

  Rozalyn did as she was told, or so she thought. But she was too interested in taking aim over the long barrel and impressing Bear-Claw with her marksmanship. Before the mountain man could add another word of caution,

  Rozalyn squeezed the trigger. A surprised squawk erupted from her lips when the rifle kicked like a mule, slamming against her shoulder and knocking her completely off balance. While she lay sprawled on the ground, Bear-Claw calmly strode over to retrieve his weapon.

  "You didn't steady the rifle firmly against your shoulder. I noticed that right away. You are a mite impatient, flatlander . . . but you'll learn."

  When Bear-Claw ambled away, Rozalyn scraped herself up off the ground and then followed after him. His footsteps took him to the river, where he intended to proceed with the next facet of her education. Announcing that it was time to learn the proper procedure for setting a beaver trap, Bear-Claw waded into the cold mountain stream. Reluctantly, Rozalyn, too, eased into the icy water, grimacing when chills ran up and down her spine.

  Having found a natural dam in the rivulet, Bear-Claw cocked the trap. "Put this contraption into the water, just deep enough for the width of one hand to move between the surface and the trap trigger."

  Carefully, the mountain man drew the attached chain to its full length and then secured it by driving a sharpened stick into the river bed. Motioning for Rozalyn to accompany him, he waded to the bank to locate a willow twig. "Next you must peel the stick and dip it in the bait." He stuffed the twig into the end of the antelope horn that dangled from his belt. "This is what we trappers call medicine," he explained with a wry grin. "It is a secretion taken from a dead beaver." After handing Rozalyn the twig, he gestured back to the river. "Take the stick bait and carefully place it above the submerged trap. The scent of the bait lures the beaver to spring the trap on his paw. The trap will drown the beaver before he can free himself by gnawing off his snared paw."

  Rozalyn made the mistake of jerking straight up when Bear-Claw described the cruel trapping method and the tormented captive's painful means of escape. Her abrupt movement caused her to lose her footing on the mossy rocks. She yelped in surprise as she went splashing into the icy stream. Muffling a chuckle, Bear-Claw lumbered into the water to offer her a helping hand.

  As the mountain man assisted her to shore, an embarrassed smile crept across her lips. "You must think me a clumsy oaf."

  "No, just a mite green," Bear-Claw corrected. "But you'll learn."

  By the end of week one, Rozalyn had heard that familiar phrase so often that she wanted to scream. She swore she would never accomplish even the simplest task without bungling it. Her first experience in building a temporary lodge was disastrous. She painstakingly stretched animal skins over several flexible saplings, but their tops were not tightly secured so the bent trees broke loose, flinging the skinned tarp to the ground several feet away.

  "I know," Rozalyn grumbled disgustedly, stalking over to retrieve the tanned skins. "I'll learn . . . eventually. I only pray that I will live long enough to get the hang of this."

  Bear-Claw plopped down on a fallen log and cast his annoyed companion a teasing grin. "I didn't sa
y this was going to be easy," he'd reminded her with a soft snicker. "You must practice the task time and time again until you get it right."

  Although he did his damndest to prevent it, a skirl of laughter bubbled in his chest. He remembered the previous night when he had shown Rozalyn how to prepare a bed of coals to warm her when sleeping in the wilds. She had neglected to scoop enough dirt into the hold to sufficiently cover the smoldering coals, and when she'd squirmed down onto her cozy nest, her blanket caught fire, nearly roasting her like a duck. Bear-Claw had doused her with water before she'd been set ablaze.

  "Would you care to try your hand at making another warm bed?" he asked.

  Rozalyn frowned at the grinning mountain man. "My backside was sufficiently scorched last night," she assured him grouchily. "I don't think I will undertake that task again for a few more days. Since I cannot endure much more heat, I intend to avoid sleeping over fires until the burns have healed."

  When Rozalyn finally managed to complete their overnight lodge, Bear-Claw scooped up the stack of skinned beaver hides. Patiently, he taught her how to scrape the skin, stretch it over a willow hoop, and then set it out to dry. Rozalyn was extremely proud of herself for completing the task without chopping off her fingers in the process.

  She was slowly learning the techniques required for surviving in the wild. Although she was not yet proficient in them, she knew the basic necessities, and the weeks of constant instruction had distracted her so she did not spend all her time wondering when Hawk would return.

  Bear-Claw reminded her of Harvey Duncan. He could spin the liveliest yarns, thereby preoccupying her on the long night when her thoughts inevitably turned to Hawk. She was now totally at ease in the mountain man's presence, and his companionship made her days without Hawk less difficult to bear.