The horses were upon her now, the bandits surrounding her in a circle. The men were all disheveled and filthy. Their clothes were dirtied and worn from long use. Their mouths were distorted by disgusting smiles of yellow and rotten teeth. To say the least, they frightened her.
“Did you really think you’d outrun us?” One of the men spoke, his voice sounding like it came from behind her. She turned around.
Unlike the other men, this one was clean-shaven and wore a spotless white shirt underneath a brown waistcoat. His teeth shone white in the moonlight and his hair was neatly combed back. He did not, by any means, have the look of an outlaw about him.
“I thought you might have had the decency to let a lady travel in peace,” she spat back, surprised at the anger in her voice.
“Ha! She has life. Rope her up, boys and make camp. Smith and Dyami, go strip the stagecoach of everything of value.” The clean-shaven man started giving out orders.
Two of the bandits broke away from the group and the rest set about making a fire and rolling out mats to sleep on. One of the men approached Clara with a rope and went to tie it about her. She growled at him and tried to kick his shins. The act of defiance, however, earned her nothing more than a hard slap across the cheek, so hard all she saw after that were stars. It took the fight right out of her. She relented and stood still as the man tied her wrists behind her back. He stood uncomfortably close to her, his breath hot on her neck. He reached his hand around, under her arm, and fondled her chest. He stuck his head closer to her, his lips hovering over her neck, his hunger for her almost palpable.
“Thomas!” the clean-shaven man’s voice reached her ears. “Hands off or I’ll cut them off.”
The man, Thomas, let her go with a final squeeze of her hips and whispered in her ear, “Just wait till tonight. He can’t stop me when he’s sleeping.”
Clara felt her throat close up and fear grip her in its icy grasp. Even the fire, as she was led to it and tied to a nearby stump, did not warm her. She sat a short distance from the fire and the men who had kidnapped her. She could faintly hear them talking about what to do with her.
Thomas eyed her from time to time, a sick grin on his face. There was nothing she could do to escape, no way out of this situation. Fear ran through her veins like molten lava. She desperately prayed to God that Thomas would drink too much to remember her and morning would come with Marcus riding to rescue her.
But as the fire dwindled until it was just a soft glow and the men all went to sleep, Thomas’ eyes stayed on her as he waited. But, eventually, his eyes fell shut and the smallest sense of relief fell over Clara and she finally drifted off.
SIX
Rescued
Yiska was certain the gunshots had come from this direction. He could see the tracks in the road from a stagecoach and the tracks of over half a dozen horses that followed it. Sure enough, after a short while longer, he came across the stagecoach.
It was standard as far as carriages went except for the fact that it was lying on its side. The horses that were supposed to pull it were nowhere in sight, probably broken free and still running together. They wouldn’t last long like that.
As he came nearer, he could see two men scrounging around the carriage, searching through it.
Bandits. Of course it is.
Yiska reached for his rifle and paused. No, better not to make too much sound. There were tracks in the road from around ten horses. With four belonging to the stagecoach, it was likely there were another four or five bandits nearby. The gunshots would attract them.
Sticking to the shadows, he came closer to the coach. There was a man on each side of the carriage. If he could take one of them out, the second might be willing to talk. He came around the side where one of the bandits was still busy rummaging through a suitcase.
With a deep breath, Yiska pounced on the man, placing a hand over his mouth and wrapping his arms around the bandit’s throat. The man kicked and struggled until his energy gave out and Yiska lowered his unconscious, barely-breathing body to the ground.
One down, one to go.
Yiska moved over to the coach, keeping close to it as he circled around to the other side. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he drew his knife and approached the last bandit, who was humming rather noisily to himself.
He pulled the man close, keeping his hand over his mouth, and pressed the knife to his throat.
“Say a word and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Yiska warned through gritted teeth.
The man nodded his head as much as Yiska’s knife would allow him to and Yiska slowly turned the man around so he could face him.
“Where are you friends?”
“I’m not telling you anything, injun. You might as well just kill me,” the man spat back.
Yiska wiped his face with his sleeve and gave the man a look of disdain. He struck out faster than lightning, the bandit wasn’t ready for it at all. Before the man could react, his shirt had been slit clean open down the middle, the buttons pattering to the ground.
“Answer me or I’ll gut you.” Yiska warned. He’d dealt with bandits like this plenty of times in the past. He wouldn’t actually kill the man, but the bandit didn’t need to know that.
“Crazy Injun, this shirt is expensive!” the bandit hissed, hands fumbling around the torn fabric.
“It was expensive, and I’ll take more than that if you don’t answer my question. Where are your friends?”
“Just over yonder,” the bandit pointed away from the road and Yiska knew he was telling the truth. He could make out the faintest trace of an orange glow near the horizon. But he looked away for too long.
A body slammed into him and he felt hands wrap around his throat as the bandit tried to strangle him. But the fool had made no attempt to disarm him. With a grunt, Yiska slammed the hilt of his knife into the man’s head and shoved his unconscious body aside.
What kind of idiot thinks he can kill an armed man with his fists?
Obviously the type of idiot who becomes an outlaw, Yiska realized. He left the sleeping bodies of the bandits behind and started jogging lightly towards the fire.
He paused on his way and checked the tracks leading away from the coach. Barely visible beneath the hoof-prints of the horses were the imprints of a lady’s shoes. They had a woman? She must have been trying to escape!
Yiska took off with a spring in his step. There was no telling what men like these would do to a helpless woman. He hoped he wouldn’t be too late. By the time he reached the fire it was almost dead, a faint glow emanated from the center of the stone circle and nothing more. He could see the sleeping bodies of five men around the fire.
And, sure enough, there she was. Ten or fifteen yards from the fire, a woman slept against the old, withered stump of a long-dead tree. She was tied to it. Yiska started to approach but, from the corner of his eye, saw one of the men stir. So he held his ground and waited, certain the man did not have good intentions.
He was right. The man started walking towards the woman. Yiska quickly drew his bow and prepared an arrow.
***
Clara woke wide-eyed and squirming, a fat, sweaty hand clasped over her mouth.
“Make a sound and I’ll cut you from ear to ear,” Thomas whispered in her ear, holding up a large hunting knife, the moonlight glancing off the sharp steel.
She wanted to scream, to throw him off of her and run away. But she couldn’t. Bile rose in her throat at his touch and she yearned to throw up. But what could she do? She was stuck underneath a man who could snap her like a twig, and would do so if she tried to escape.
“Mmm,” he mumbled. “Let’s see what’s under here.”
His hands closed around the front of her dress and ripped it open. His eyes opened wide, hungry at the sight of her nakedness. He reached for her but his hands never touched her.
His body was thrown to the side, clean off her. She stifled a scream. Another man lay on top of him and, lifting his hand knocked him out. He lay o
n the ground, unmoving.
The man who had saved her turned to face her, politely keeping his gaze over her head.
“Let me free you,” he said and she rolled to the side. She felt the sawing of a knife and her hands were soon hers to control once more.
“Thank you!” she said in a hushed tone, turning to face him. He immediately turned away and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She had forgotten she was half-naked!
She quickly covered herself and went to his side.
“Thank you, for rescuing me,” she said and he smiled at her, much more at ease now.
“Come,” he said, “we must get away from here, we can talk more later.”
She nodded in relief and followed after him. She had barely taken three steps when there was a loud snap underneath her feet and she froze. Her rescuer did likewise, his hands moving to the rifle slung over his back.
“Maybe they didn’t hear–” she started but was cut off.
“The girl, she’s escaping!”
“Run!” the mysterious man who had saved her ordered and pointed in the direction of the road and she did just so.
She heard gunshots behind her and the sounds of fighting. She desperately wanted to turn around but kept on running. She had to get away. She could hear the sound of feet pounding against the earth behind her. Someone yelled at her to stop. She couldn’t. She kept running.
“Hey! Stop!”
No way!
A hand closed over her shoulder and she spun around, her open hand slapping the man who had grabbed her. She froze when she realized it was the man who had saved her.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she cried and immediately pulled his hand away from his cheek so she could check it. Already it was red and swelling. He just laughed it off.
“You’ve been through a lot, miss, it’s not a problem. Come, you are hurt,” he pointed to her knee and cheek, “My home is not far. I’ll dress your wounds.”
SEVEN
Falling for The Indian Cowboy
Clara sat on the bed in one of the small, outlying houses on a ranch. Yiska, as she had since learned was the name her savior went by, was crouched on the ground before her, inspecting her wounded knee.
She was still shaking, if only a little, traumatized as the reality of all that had taken place in the last few hours really sank in. She had almost been raped and killed. She had never, in her entire life, thought she would be put in a situation like that. The terror of the experience still lingered.
“Hey,” Yiska looked up at her and she could see the kindness in his eyes. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul. If that was true, then this man had a good soul. “It’s all going to be okay. You are safe now.”
His smile worked wonders, far more than his reassuring words did. His slightly crooked grin filled her with a sense of security that she had not felt in a long time.
“I need to treat your knee or it will get infected. This might sting a little bit.”
He increased the light in the room, the lantern’s flame growing. As the warm glow filled the room, Clara gasped under her breath. She had not before realized that Yiska was an Indian.
With a name like Yiska, though, it shouldn’t come as a surprise.
“Are you okay?” he asked when she gasped, a look of genuine concern written into his features.
“Yes, sorry. Please don’t let me interrupt you.”
He smiled, again, and her heart melted a little more. Still, she had never met an Indian before. She had heard tales of “brutal killers” and “uncivilized savages” from the people who came to Indiana from the west. They made them sound like monsters.
As she watched the tenderness and care with which he treated her injured leg, however, she realized nothing could be farther from the truth. He took her into consideration before applying alcohol to clean the wound, letting her know it was about to hurt so she could prepare herself. He took immense care wrapping the leg and, when she said it was too tight, he smiled and rewrapped it twice more until she said it was comfortable.
“Thank you, Yiska,” she said and tried to convey as much emotion in the words as possible so he knew she meant them with all her heart.
“It is no trouble,” he answered. “Any decent human would have done the same.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? There weren’t many decent humans around. She had never met a man like Yiska before, one who treated women with kindness and tenderness. Most men though women were theirs for the taking, simple property to be owned and forsaken on a whim.
But Yiska was different. When she looked into his eyes, into his soul, she knew she could trust him unconditionally. Already, from the two short hours she had been in his company, she knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. He had saved her. The mere though made her want to throw herself in his arms and blubber her gratitude. She blushed furiously at the imagery.
Oblivious to her distress, he stood up and headed for the door.
“I’m going out to sleep in the field. You may sleep in my bed. There’s no need to rush in the morning; sleep in and I’ll come by in the early afternoon. Your body needs rest, more than anything, to heal right now.”
“Thank you, for everything,” she replied, smiled and added “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Clara.” He closed the door behind him and she drifted to sleep with his smile still lingering at the fore of her thoughts.
Clara woke to the sound of bustling about. She opened her eyes to see Yiska putting away a stack of cleaned plates and mugs. The sun was shining through the windows and she realized it was late into the afternoon. She had slept most of the day away!
She looked around the small house and noticed her bags by the front door. He must have retrieved them while she slept! What a relief; her whole life was in those bags.
“Good afternoon,” she said and Yiska jumped, startled.
She burst out laughing and he joined her, the two of them enjoying the innocence of the moment.
“Good afternoon to you, sleepy head,” he was still chuckling as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “You slept well?”
“Yes, wonderfully,” she answered, unwilling to disclose that he had been in her dreams.
“Excellent. I have prepared a small meal that should hold you until dinner, if you would like,” he said, bringing her a plate with a small loaf of bread and a few dried strips of meat on it. “The loaf is cornbread I prepared yesterday and the meat is smoke beef that I bought.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the plate. She was, although she would never have admitted it, famished. She had not eaten since lunch the day before and her stomach was rumbling impatiently at the sight of the food.
“Don’t even mention it,” he replied, then he sat opposite her and watched her while she ate. She felt a little self-conscious, but his warm demeanor and relaxed attitude assured her all was okay.
He was far more handsome in the daylight than she had first realized. His copper skin perfectly complemented his long, jet-black hair. He wore a loose-fitting shirt, but his broad shoulders and stance betrayed his muscular build. Butterflies started fluttering in her stomach.
Oh, how pleasurable it would be to be wrapped in his strong arms.
The thought caught her unaware and she immediately scolded herself. Such thoughts were not appropriate for a Christian woman, let alone one about to be married. Why, the scriptures said that one who so much as looked on another with passion had already committed adultery in their heart. She made the sign of the cross, as discreetly as she could and continued eating.
“Ah, you are Christian?” he phrased it as a question but she knew it was more of a statement.
She realized she was foolish to think that Yiska would not notice. She nodded meekly.
“I see Christians make this sign,” he imitated her and she laugh, “when they sin. Have you sinned, Clara?”
Hmm, he was a perceptive one. Sharp, and quick-witted. She hated herself for thinking so, but such qu
alities only made the mysterious Indian more attractive in her eyes.
“Only in mind, not flesh.” she said, avoiding his searching gaze.
“Is it not a burden to always worry about treading on God’s toes? Surely he can’t be so unforgiving as your priests would have people believe, punishing men and women so harshly for the slightest misstep.”
Huh, imagine that.
The last person she had expected to speak of Christian faith was an Indian, yet here he was starting an intriguing conversation with her, on a topic she reflected on frequently, no less. Suddenly she wished, she had more than this one day to spend with him.
“God only wants the best for us, and his commandments are there to guide us. So long as we follow them, God will look after us.”
“Well, if that’s so, where was he last night when that man was about to violate you?”
“But I was not raped. He sent you to save me.”
That gave him reason to pause.
Ha! You thought you could outsmart me, because I’m a woman no doubt.
She felt her lips turn up at the edges and knew she was grinning victoriously. He saw and only smiled knowingly at her, as if he had something to say but kept it to himself. Who was this world-wise man? What was he doing living out here?
“So, Yiska, tell me more about yourself.” She endeavored to find the answers to some of her abundant questions.
“Me? Oh, I’m not all that interesting. I’m just a man from the Navajo tribe seeking his way in life.”
“Is that all?” She could tell there was more to him than he was telling. What had happened to make him so guarded? She was full to bursting with questions and could hardly wait to discovered more about her rescuer.
As if on cue, to answer her question, a gurgling sound, like that an infant makes, could be heard from the only other room in the small house.
“Excuse me.” Yiska stood up and practically ran to the other room.
Clara suddenly felt ashamed and angry with herself. How could she have been so foolish to think a man like Yiska would be single? And the manner in which she had flirted with him, it was unseemly. Of course he had a wife. And a child no less!
Mail Order Bride: JUMBO Mail Order Bride 20 Book Box Set Page 37