Alex glanced over her shoulder as she knelt down beside him. “Private Nim, can you keep the boiler going while I see to Weston’s arm?”
“Yes, Miss Evans.”
A little smile quirked the corner of her lip. “Private?”
“Yes, Miss Evans?”
“After all we have been through perhaps you could call me Alex.”
The private’s face flushed. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Evans, Alex...” He shook his head and continued to shovel.
With a soft chuckle Alex turned back to Weston and carefully cut off the sleeve of his once white shirt to expose the ugly wound underneath. Blood oozed in small trails down his shoulder and forearm, dripping onto the floor. The arm itself dangled uselessly. “You need a doctor.”
He shook his head. “We do not have time to stop. We have to make Philadelphia before the rest of the general’s army.”
“You need a doctor. The bullet is still in there. It is only a matter of time before it gets infected.”
“Take a knife and dig it out.”
Her face turned even whiter, her eyes widening. “I’m not a doctor.”
He grinned sure it looked more of a grimace due to his pain. “And I am no inventor or soldier, yet here we are.” He squeezed her hand. “There is no choice.”
Her eyes flickered around the room as if searching for something, anything to avoid the deed. “But there’s no hot water, no cloth for bandaging and only the meager lantern light to guide my hand.”
“‘Tis a long way from my heart, Alex, how much damage could you do?”
She smiled slightly as he had intended.
“Lord Grendal?”
Weston turned his gaze from hers and looked at the private. “What is it Nim?”
“It is almost too dark to see. How are we to guide the war machine over the landscape in blackness?”
“We shall have to make camp for the night and hope the general’s men wait until morning to track us. Besides, there is no way Alex can dig lead out of my arm with the jerky movements of the machine rolling us about.”
Nim nodded and stopped shoveling. Alex scrambled to her feet to work the levers while Weston looked for a place to camp for the night. A large flat spot atop the highest rock face along the river looked to be their best choice. At least they would be able to see the general’s men coming. Though he supposed they might just head for Philadelphia if they knew that was their destination. Alex guided the machine to a stop adjusting the levers to release the steam that would build up as the machine cooled down. His eyes narrowed and he clamped his teeth on the dirty bandana tied across his mouth. If looks could kill Weston supposed she would be dead by now.
She glanced at the general. “What should we do with him?”
“Tie him to a tree.” Weston frowned.
“I’ll stand watch tonight,” Nim said, tossing his knife down beside Weston. “Since neither of you had any sleep last night.” He opened the door and climbed down the ladder.
Weston picked up the knife and handed it to her handle first. “Well, let us get on with digging out that lead so we can get some sleep.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took it. After she had opened the boiler door she knelt back down beside him. The flickering flames and the glowing coals cast the small room in a pale orange glow. She cut the rest of his shirt off him. “Are you sure we can’t wait until morning?”
“Just do it.”
Her gaze dropped to his arm, she inhaled deeply and let the air out with slow deliberation. With slightly shaking hands she put the point of the knife against the wound. She looked up again, doubt and fear reflected in her eyes. “I can’t.”
He reached out with his good hand and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “You can, you must. I trust you.” A single tear trickled down her cheek and over his fingers.
Her gaze slid from his. “All right. Here I go,” she warned.
He steeled himself as the knife dug into his burning flesh. Clenching his teeth he closed his eyes as the blade sunk deeper. When it touched the foreign lead object lodged in the muscle he forced the breath from his mouth and through his teeth with a loud hiss. A small sob escaped her and he opened his eyes. Tears rolled down her face as she struggled to keep her hand steady. “You have...got it.” He gasped for air. “Now...get under it.” She nodded without looking at him and bit her lip, her brows scrunching in concentration.
The pain was almost unbearable as the blade slid under the lead forcing it back up through the torn muscle and tissue to the surface. As it popped free he let out a roar of pain and lay back panting, sweat running down his face. He closed his eyes. The knife clattered to the floor. Her quiet sobs mixed with his harsh breathing as she wrapped a strip of his discarded shirt around the wound tying it in place to stanch the bleeding. He opened his eyes. “Come here...Alex.” Holding out his good hand he waited. The guilt in her look singed his heart. Finally she moved stiffly into the circle of his arm. He pulled her close and held her as she sobbed, her tears mixing with the sweat on his chest.
He kissed the top of her head, whispering meaningless words of comfort. Her arms wrapped around his torso. Without thinking he raised her tear-stained face. Her lips trembled and he smiled. Even with her sooty, tear-stained face and wild disheveled hair she was beautiful. He loved her. The thought struck him deeper than the probing knife ever could. He loved this strange, intriguing, gentle, inventor woman. He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. She stiffened for a moment and then sagged into his embrace, her arms winding their way about his neck. A soft sigh escaped her mouth. Lord how he wanted to do more than kiss her. He wanted to explore her curves and crevices with his hands, his lips and his tongue but he was afraid to release his one-armed hold on her for fear she would withdraw from him.
Deepening his kiss he brushed her lips with his tongue. When she opened for him it was almost his undoing. Her sweet, moist mouth promised too much for him to stop now. Her tongue touched his and he groaned. She answered his call with a soft moan of her own, the peaks of her breasts pressing against his bare chest through her thin shirt. His manhood sprang to attention, making his breeches uncomfortably constricting. This was it. He had to stop himself before he reached the point of no return. He leaned back and slackened his hold on her.
Instead of drawing away she clung to him, her breathing rough and fast. “No,” she whispered. “I want to know, to feel, just once...please.”
Was she begging him to make love to her? Did she not know how desirable she was, even in those, maddening, enticing breeches? Especially in those breeches...No he could not. A man did not take a woman’s innocence without the sanctity of marriage. It just was not proper and he prided himself on being the proper gentleman...unlike his father. Nobel army war hero he may have been, but faithful he was not, not in his marriage or career. He wedged his hand gently in between them and pushed her away. “No.”
Her eyes filled with hurt tears. He had not meant to make her feel undesirable. God, could she not feel his desire pressing against her thigh and tenting his breeches? “I am sorry. I cannot. It is not proper.”
Anger flashed in her eyes and her lips pressed into a thin line of bitterness. “I am sorry I am not delicate enough for you, my lord, that my breeches disgust you so.”
“No, Alex, that is not it, I—”
She jumped to her feet. “Oh that’s it all right. How many times do I have to feel the pain of a man’s scorn? I thought you were different. I thought I…” She spun around, rushed to the door and scrambled down the ladder.
“Alex! Alex, wait! You do not understand.” Nothing but silence. “I am sorry...I did not mean it that way...” he trailed off and leaned back against the rough wall. He had not meant to hurt her.
Chapter Fifteen
Alex scrambled down the ladder and ran blindly away from the machine. How could she have been so cork brained? No other man had ever wanted her, why would Weston? Most likely he saw her as nothing more than anoth
er man despite her curves and the pink dress she spent her last bit of coin on. He was no different than any other man.
“Miss Evans?”
She looked up as Private Nim stepped out from the shadows.
“Is something wrong?”
Swiping at her tears she tried to steady her reply lest he tell even in the dark she had been crying. “No. I am…I’m fine. I was just going to...take care of...things.”
“Oh.” The darkness may have covered his face, but not the chagrin in his voice.
She turned away from the fire and walked into the brush. Why had her father done this to her? Was it because he always wanted a son? Perhaps he only wanted to ensure she did not become like her mother...Whatever the reason, he had succeeded in making her undesirable to men. She walked into the brush, took care of her business and turned back in the direction she had come. Before she had gone half a dozen steps a large hand clamped over her mouth. She struck out scratching and kicking. A thick arm wrapped around her waist. Despite her attempts to get free she was lifted off her feet. Terror clawed at her insides. Had the general gotten loose? Perhaps Weston was playing some sort of cruel joke on her? Something dry and musty smelling was stuffed in her mouth. She was flung face down over the person’s bare shoulder, the breath pounded out of her as he half walked and half ran through the bushes. It suddenly occurred to her that although she could hear both of their breathing she couldn’t hear twigs snapping or brush crunching under his feet.
Her captor moved through the brush for what seemed like eternity, pinching her bottom when she struggled so much he stumbled and had to shift her weight. Branches and twigs snagged her shirt and hair, pricking and stabbing her unmercifully. They finally broke free of the brush and the one who carried her picked up the pace, jogging through the tall grass with nary a sound. Alex renewed her struggles and received a guttural grunt and a stinging slap across the buttocks for her troubles. Fury built in her. How dare whoever it was pinch and slap her. Just who did he think he was? Who was he anyway? Was it the general who carried her, or one of his men? He would rue the day he manhandled her! She’d show him what for, the cad! She wrinkled her nose at the musky scent of him. The man certainly needed a bath and some cologne.
The sound of rushing water slowly permeated her senses. It had to be one of the general’s fiends who had her for they were headed back in the direction of the barracks. The air grew damp making her shiver. The man slipped and slid on the slick rocks before he stopped so abruptly her heart leaped into her throat. Flailing desperately she tried to slow her decent as she was tossed downward. With a jarring thud that knocked the wind from her lungs she landed in something hollow sounding. Before she could move her hands were grasped and something soft and sinewy wrapped around and around until she couldn’t move them. The water craft she was in teetered and lurched to one side as her captor climbed in. The scrape of gravel beneath her head and the gentle swish of a paddle through water told her they were being pushed out into the river’s faster current. Squinting through the dark she tried to make out the two rough shapes huddled in the boat with her. With no more than a sliver of moon peeping through the clouds she couldn’t make out more than the odd distinction of an arm as they paddled silently. When she struggled to sit up and rocked the boat she was rewarded with a harsh kick in the shin and a grunt.
Alex lay there, silently fuming and if she had to admit it, more than a little afraid. Who were these men? Where were they taking her and why? Did this have to do with the war machine? Were they the British? Did they hope to hold her for ransom to get the war machine? If that was their plan then wouldn’t they be surprised to learn the general was no longer in charge. Or...would they? She gave her head a slight shake. Whoever they were she was unlikely to know until the sun came up...if she lived that long.
One of the men howled, low and long, a primeval sound that made her hair stand on end. Oh God! Had she been kidnapped by a half wolf, half man like the stories she had seen in that little monthly magazine which was so popular in Washington? Tales of werewolves, vampires and mermaids that sang their victims into a stupor. An answering howl drifted across the water...or was it just the echo of the first one? She couldn’t be sure. Her heart pounded in her chest, her brow dampening in fear.
Suddenly the boat shifted direction. The two men at the paddles grunted and strained as they battled the strong current and forced the boat into the shallows. Gravel scraped across the bottom and the boat lurched as the men climbed out. Panic surfaced again as they seemed to vanish. Were they just going to leave her here trussed up like a hunted boar? Again her heart lurched into her chest as the vessel was lifted in the air. She was bounced and tilted up and down, back and forth as they walked away from the river. Every step they took had her terrified that they would drop her. Within a few minutes branches scraped along the side of the craft they carried her in, the scent of pine needles strong and heady. Somewhere in front of them something crashed through the bush, and then a little further on an owl hooted in the branches above her. Just as suddenly as she was lifted into the air she was set back down.
One of the men grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. Without a word he tossed her over his bare shoulder and carried her for a few feet. She was lifted and slung face down over something large, warm and soft. When it shifted and snuffled her legs she realized it was a horse of some kind, but it was not a saddle she was on but a soft fur strapped to its back. Her hands and feet were tied together underneath the belly before the gag was pulled from her mouth. She coughed and sputtered; her throat dry and ticklish.
Finally she caught her breath. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
There was no answer and for a second she thought they had abandoned her. Then the horse began to move forward, its hooves making no sound on the path.
“Please, let me go. I don’t have the war machine.”
Still no answer.
“Please, say something...anything.”
Nothing but silence.
With her voice nothing but a harsh rasp she sighed and stopped trying. All she could do was wait and see. On and on they walked. Alex’s muscles ached from being tied in such an awkward position and her head throbbed from the blood rushing to it. After what seemed like hours her eyelids grew heavy. How much longer would she be forced to lie like this? She yawned. It couldn’t hurt just to close her eyes for a few minutes...
Chapter Sixteen
Weston shifted against the wall and glanced at the general. The man’s head was bowed, chin to his chest, eyes closed, his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps he should remove the man’s gag. Out here in the middle of nowhere it was unlikely anyone would hear the man’s yells if he tried to summon help. With a sigh he closed his eyes.
He would get Alex to do it when she came back. He frowned. Would she come back tonight or would she spend the night by the fire outside with Private Nim? His conscience nipped at his thoughts. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, but that’s exactly what he had done judging by her reaction. Was she so insecure she had no idea how desirable she really was? Breeches or no breeches her curves would make any man drool if they could get past her outlandishness.
He sighed. He had done exactly what he promised himself he would not, and fallen for Alexandra Evans. Good Lord, what would his mother say? He could only imagine her outrage. One did not fall in love with women like Alex. Hell, if truth be known one did not even have affairs with women like Alex. Women like Alex...what? What happened to women like Alex? Nothing really, he supposed. They went on living their strange lives...existences really. What would happen to her after they reached Philadelphia and told the president about the general’s plan? She had no money, no way of fending for herself and no husband prospects. Perhaps he should take her in. Maybe she would make an entertaining companion for his sister...
Somewhere outside a wolf howled and was answered shortly after by another. It was a lonely forsaken kind of sound. Underneath it all he was sure that wa
s how Alex felt. Lonely and forsaken. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his time piece. Quarter past midnight. Perhaps he should go and apologize. It didn’t appear she was going to come back on her own.
He staggered to his feet leaning against the wall as his head spun before it settled. He must have lost more blood than he thought. Clutching his injured arm to his side he climbed awkwardly down the ladder. When he reached the bottom he leaned against the leg of the machine and relieved himself. It was quiet. Too quiet. He looked toward the fire as he re-fastened his breeches. It had burned down to mere coals glowing in the small pit. It appeared Private Nim and Alex had both fallen asleep. He shook his head and stalked in the direction of the figure lying on the opposite side of the fire. He had given the young man one simple job to do, keep watch, and the private had failed. Annoyance flared as he stalked to the figure encased in an army issue blanket.
“Get up, Nim, you lazy lout.” The figure did not move. With a growl Weston jabbed the man with his boot. Again the figure didn’t stir. “Nim, you sleep like a dead man. Get your arse up!” This time he shoved the private over onto his back. One arm flopped to the side dragging the blanket off. Nim’s lifeless eyes stared back at him fixed in a horrified stare. “Bloody hell!” Weston drew his pistol and looked around. Nothing stirred. Careful to keep the pistol muzzle pointed he leaned down and touched the side of Nim’s neck. The skin was already cool; no pulse greeted his probing fingers. He removed his hand, his fingers sticky with congealing blood. A shiver of horror racked his body as he looked closer at the dead private. The top of his scalp was missing. Redskins.
Weston’s mind reeled at a frantic pace. Where was Alex? Did they have her? Was she too dead? Were the redskins still here, waiting and watching? His eyes scanned the dark bushes, trees and landscape. Was there even now a tomahawk or bow and arrow trained on him to snuff out his life? Slowly he lowered himself to the ground against the private’s stiffening body. Balancing the pistol in his good hand he cocked it and listened. No sound other than the incessant chirping of crickets reached his ears. “Alex.”
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