Lakota Renegade

by Baker, Madeline

  Jassy made a face at him. “Very funny, Mr. Maddigan.”

  “Sure you don’t want another stack of pancakes? More bacon? Eggs? Another cup of coffee?”

  Jassy made a face at him. “I’m sure.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  Lifting his hat from the back of his chair, Creed stood up and dropped a couple of dollars on the table.

  Their next stop was the mercantile. Creed bought Jassy a pair of Levis, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, thick wool socks, a pair of sturdy boots, a wide-brimmed hat and a bedroll of her own.

  “You can change on the trail,” he said as he thrust the clothing into her hands.

  “But I’ve never worn pants!” she exclaimed, scandalized by the mere idea.

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll be less trouble than a dress and a dozen petticoats. And I’m sick of that blue thing.”

  “I just wore it to travel in. I have another one.”

  “Good, ’cause I’m burning that blue one tonight.”

  “No, Creed, I don’t have that many clothes.”

  “Then get yourself another dress, ’cause that blue one’s about to be history.”

  Jassy smiled. There was no arguing with the man, she thought, and that was fine with her. She hadn’t had many new dresses in her day, and she was a sick of that blue dress as he was.

  She picked out a pink muslin and held it up for Creed’s approval.

  “Just as long as it’s not blue,” he muttered.

  She trailed after him while he bought supplies, conscious of the looks of disdain and distrust that followed him. Funny, back in Harrison it had never occurred to her that people held Creed in contempt because he was a half-breed. She had always thought their apprehension was because of his reputation as a hired gun.

  Now, paying more attention, she saw the fear in the eyes of the women, the wariness in the eyes of the men.

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders when she overheard a couple of the women whispering about her behind her back, declaring she must be no better than white trash to keep company with a dirty half-breed.

  Tears of anger and hurt stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Narrow-minded old biddies. What did they know about anything, about being poor and hungry, about being ashamed of living in a dirty little shack in a dirty little alley? Fat, rich old crones, what right did they have to judge her?

  Hands balled into tight fists, she followed Creed out of the store.

  “You okay, honey?” Creed asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I heard what they said.”

  “Nasty old…old…” She stamped her foot because she couldn’t think of a word bad enough to call them. “I’m not white trash!”

  “I know.”

  “What right do they have to call me names? I could understand it in Harrison where everybody knew who I was, who my mama was. But those women don’t even know me.”

  A shadow of regret passed across Creed’s eyes, and she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, before he said, “They knew you were with me.”

  “They don’t know you, either!”

  “Jassy…”

  She was getting angrier by the minute. “Doesn’t it make you mad, having people look down on you like that?”

  He loosed a weary sigh. ”It used to, but what the hell, you can’t change the world.” He slid his knuckles over her cheek. “I warned you how it would be.”

  “I know.”

  “But you didn’t believe me.”

  Jassy shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “Come on, let’s go get my horse and get the hell out of here.”

  *

  Later that night, Jassy was still fretting over what she’d heard in town. Sitting beside the campfire, her hands wrapped around a cup of hot black coffee, she stared into the dancing flames, wondering why those women had felt the need to judge her. She’d heard the disdain in their voices, the righteous indignation, but she couldn’t understand it. They didn’t know anything about her except that she was with Creed, and they had labeled her as white trash. It was so unfair!

  “Jassy?”

  She glanced up to find Creed standing beside her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not still brooding about what those women said, are you?”

  Her gaze slid away from his. “Sort of. I just want to be respectable, Creed. Is that asking too much?”

  “No, honey. But if you’re after respectability, you’re keeping the wrong kind of company.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but deep down she knew he was right, at least in part. No one would ever call Creed Maddigan respectable. Right or wrong, she knew now that there were those who would never forgive him for being a half-breed, even though he had nothing to do with the circumstances of his birth. She knew, too, that his reputation as a hired gun would never be socially acceptable.

  Nevertheless, he was the kindest, most wonderful man she had ever known. Even though she had known him only a short while, he’d always been there when she needed him, whether it was saving her from Harry Padden’s rough handling in an alley, or comforting her after her mother died, Creed had been there, giving her a strong arm to lean on, a shoulder to cry on.

  Creed added some wood to the fire, then glanced down at Jassy, his stomach clenching when he saw her pensive expression.

  “You wouldn’t be having second thoughts about running off with me, would you?” he asked.

  Jassy shook her head vigorously. “No. I just don’t understand why people think the way they do. Everybody in town thought Harry Coulter was such a decent, upstanding young man because he went to church with his mother on Sunday. And all the ladies thought Billy Padden was a nice boy just because his father’s the preacher.”

  She gazed at him intently, her eyes luminous. “Neither of them were half as honorable as you are.”

  Creed snorted with disdain. ”Honorable? Me?”

  “Yes, you. I’ve thrown myself at you several times, and yet you’ve never taken advantage of me.” Her cheeks were on fire, but she couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words even as she wondered whatever had possessed her to broach the subject in the first place. “I even asked you to make love to me, and you refused.”

  “Don’t ask me again.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m not an honorable man, Jassy, and I’m not a saint. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  “Really?” His words pleased her, filling her with delight, and confusion. “Then why didn’t you…?”

  “You said it yourself. You want to be respectable, and that’s something I’ll never be. Something I’ve never wanted.”

  Jassy stared into the depths of Creed’s turbulent black eyes and all thought of being respectable fled her mind. He was so tall, so breathtakingly handsome. The firelight played over the hard planes and angles of his face, so that his profile was half in shadow. She remembered the feel of that hard muscular body pressed against her own, the taste of his kisses. Would he really make love to her if she dared ask him again? He might claim that he had no honor, he might very well ravish her, but she knew deep in her heart that, once he had made love to her, he would never abandon her.

  Slowly, her heart pounding wildly, she stood up. “Creed.”

  Rising on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Jassy, don’t.”

  “I’m asking, Creed. Make love to me.”

  “Jassy…”

  “I don’t care what people will think. I don’t want to be respectable if it means I can’t have you.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he removed her arms from around his neck.

  “Jassy, think about what you’re doing. When we get to Frisco, no one will know who you are, or where you came from. You can start a whole new life for yourself, a decent life.”

  “What good’s a decent life if you won’t share it with me?” she cried, unable to keep the h
urt from her voice. “I thought you cared for me, at least a little.”

  “I do, and you know it.”

  “Why did you bring me with you if you’re just going to dump me in San Francisco?”

  “You ask the damnedest questions,” Creed muttered.

  “Why, Creed?” she whispered.

  He looked deep into her eyes, beautiful brown eyes filled with love and hope.

  “Creed?”

  He swore softly, viciously, and then he yanked her up against his body and covered her mouth with his. It was a rough kiss, harsh and demanding, filled with passion and anger and an overriding sense of helplessness. He’d fought rustlers, he’d faced armed men, but he had no defense against the sweet innocence of Jassy McCloud.

  Jassy clung to his shoulders as the world spun out of focus. He’d kissed her before, sometimes gently, sometimes passionately, but never like this. His arm was rock-hard around her waist, imprisoning her body against his, while his other hand moved restlessly up and down her back, then cupped her buttocks, drawing her up against him so that she could feel the evidence of his desire.

  She returned his kiss, glorying in his touch, in his nearness. He wanted her. And she wanted him.

  His kiss deepened, his tongue teasing hers, until she felt as though her whole body was on fire. With a soft moan, she stood on tiptoe and pressed herself against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her whole body quivering with need. He groaned, as if he was in pain, and then, abruptly, he pushed her away.

  “What is it?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not here, Jassy. Not like this.”

  “Damn you, Creed Maddigan, if you don’t finish what you started, I’ll never forgive you! Not the longest day I live!”

  He threw her a maddening grin. “Yes, you will.”

  “I won’t!” She glared up at him, her whole body tingling with need and unfulfilled desire.

  “Jassy, listen.” He reached for her, but she backed away, her eyes mutinous, her lips bruised from his kisses.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Jassy, I want your first time to be special. I…” he broke off, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

  “Go on.”

  “I want it to be in a nice hotel, with a feather tick. I want to…” He swore softly. “I want to seduce you with flowers and champagne and carry you off to bed. I don’t want to take you here, in the dirt, like some stag in rut.”

  “Oh, Creed,” Jassy murmured, her eyes shining. “I hope there’s a hotel nearby.”

  “Not near enough,” he muttered.

  This time, when he reached for her, she didn’t back away, but went willingly into his arms.

  “I can’t fight it any longer, Jassy,” he murmured helplessly. “I can’t fight you any longer.” Resting his chin on the top of her head, he let out a sigh of resignation. “But if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “I mean we’re getting married in the next town.”

  “Married!”

  “I haven’t done many things right in my life, but this is one time we’re doing it by the book, if you’ll have me.” He tipped her head up so he could see her face. “Will you marry me, Jasmine Alexandria McCloud?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I think you’re making a big mistake.”

  “Why, Creed Maddigan,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him, “you say the most romantic things.”

  “I can’t help it, Jassy girl,” he replied solemnly. “As your friend, I’d advise you to say no.”

  Jassy laughed softly. “I’m sure no girl in all the world has ever received a proposal quite like this one.”

  “I only want what’s best for you, honey, and I’m afraid I’m not it.”

  “I think you are.”

  He grinned ruefully. “I hope you’re right.” Lowering his head, he kissed her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “Go to bed, Jassy, before all my good intentions go up in smoke.”

  Happiness bubbled inside her as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him good night.

  “I love you, Creed. I’ll make you a good wife, I promise.” She looked up at him, hoping he’d say he loved her, too, but not expecting it. Some men found it hard to say the words, but she was certain he cared, certain that, in time, he’d say the words she longed to hear.

  He stood by the fire, watching while she climbed under the covers. There was no doubt in his mind but that Jassy would make him the best wife a man ever had.

  He only wondered if he was capable of being the kind of husband she deserved.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He knew, even before he opened his eyes, that something was wrong. And then he heard it again, the sound of wary footsteps muffled by the soft dirt.

  A whiff of rawhide and bear grease seeped into his nostrils.

  Indians, he thought. But how many?

  For a moment, Creed lay still, all his senses alert. A prickling along his spine warned him that any sudden move could cost him his life and Jassy’s as well.

  Very slowly, he opened his eyes.

  Warriors stood on either side of him, just out of reach, their faces streaked with war paint, their long black hair adorned with feathers. The man to Creed’s left held a reasonably new Winchester rifle, the barrel aimed at Creed’s chest. The warrior to his right held a war lance decorated with a single white eagle feather. And a pair of long blond scalps.

  Without moving his head, Creed glanced at Jassy. She was still asleep, her cheek pillowed on her hand, her hair spread over the ground sheet like a burnished halo.

  Two warriors stood at the foot of her bedroll, both armed with repeating rifles.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two more warriors standing a few yards away. Both were well-armed.

  In the distance, Creed spotted a novice warrior holding the Indians’ horses.

  Creed swallowed hard. The Indians were Crow, judging by their shields and moccasins. Had they been Lakota, he might have been able to convince them that he was one of them. Unfortunately, the Crow didn’t care much for the Lakota. But then, the Lakota had no use for the Crow, either. In order to gain the support of the Federal Government in protecting their hunting lands, the Crow had served as scouts for the army, a fact that did nothing to endear them to the Lakota. “Creed.” Jassy’s voice called out to him, quivering with fear.

  “Don’t move,” he warned, keeping his voice low, hoping he didn’t sound half as worried as he felt.

  The warrior with the lance prodded Creed in the side, gesturing for him to stand up.

  Slowly, Creed did as he was told, noticing, as he did so, that the Indians had already ransacked their camp, helping themselves to their supplies, to his weapons and Jassy’s new clothes.

  He heard Jassy shriek with alarm as one of the warrior’s grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, then pushed her toward the small stone-ringed pit that had housed last night’s camp fire.

  “I think they want you to fix them something to eat,” Creed said.

  He looked at the Indian nearest him and made motions like he was eating. The warrior nodded.

  While Jassy prepared breakfast, one of the warriors lashed Creed’s hands behind his back, then forced him to his knees. Another warrior knelt beside Creed and began going through his pockets—taking his tobacco, slipping the knife from inside his boot, tossing a handful of greenbacks into the fire.

  Giving Creed a shove that clearly told him to stay put, the Indian went to join the others who had gathered around Jassy, talking and gesturing while they watched her fry up a mess of bacon and potatoes.

  Jassy’s hands were trembling so hard she could barely hold on to the frying pain. Never, never, had she been so frightened. Time and again she glanced over her shoulder at Creed, and each time he smiled reassuringly, but even that didn’t allay her fears.

  These were Indians, wild Indians, capable of a
trocities beyond her imagination. She hadn’t missed the long blond scalps fluttering on the end of the lance. She had heard enough about Indians to know war paint when she saw it, to realize that her life…she swallowed hard…and her virtue, were in danger.

  She had heard countless stories about women who had been taken captive, who had been tortured and raped by savages. She had listened in horror to lurid tales of women who had killed themselves rather than submit to rape and degradation.

  Of course, there were almost as many stories of women who had embraced the Indian way of life, who had married their captors, learned their language and customs, born their children. Outrageous stories of women who had refused to be rescued, who had gone running back to their Indian men when they were forcibly taken away.

  She glanced at the faces of the Indians as she opened a can of beans, looking for some sign of mercy, of compassion, but it was impossible to see any kind of expression, any kind of emotion, beneath the grotesque paint.

  When the food was ready, the warriors gathered around, eating with their fingers and their knives. As casually as she could, Jassy started walking toward Creed, only to have one of the warrior’s grab her by the ankle.

  “You. Stay.”

  She stared at the Indian, mute, and then she glanced at Creed.

  “Do what he says, honey.”

  In minutes, the Indians were through eating. The warrior nearest Jassy grabbed her by the arm and quickly tied her hands behind her back.

  The other warriors surrounded Creed, their dark eyes malevolent, their voices angry.

  His stomach churning with dread, Creed scrambled to his feet. Head high, he glared at his captors, wondering if they were going to kill him outright, or drag it out a little.

  He glanced quickly at Jassy. Her face was beyond pale, her eyes were wide with fear. He’d failed her, he thought bleakly, and felt a gut-wrenching ache. They would probably kill him; slow or quick, in the end it wouldn’t matter, but Jassy… He groaned low in his throat as he thought of her being passed from one warrior to another.

  And then there was no more time to worry about Jassy’s fate.

  The first blow was no more than a slap, meant to humiliate, not hurt. The second was a little harder, the sound of flesh striking flesh echoing loudly in the stillness of the morning.