The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  Taking a deep sigh, she looked around for somewhere to sit. She couldn’t afford to stop. But her leg was bothering her horribly. The throbbing she received when it knocked against her chair had subsided, but was replaced instead with a new, agonizing, pain received during the crash. Bearing far too much weight while she plowed through the wilderness not to mention the frigid temperatures didn’t help the old wound. Walking was almost impossible.

  She found a huge uprooted tree and perched herself on it. For only a moment, she promised herself. She did not know how much longer before they came for her.

  After the train crashed, she thought it a godsend the door had snapped off its hinges. Having already long discarded the handcuffs thanks to years of practice in the Earl’s own set of confinements, Ivy had slipped out of the car only to trip over a pair of legs. They belonged to Sam Michalski.

  Outside, a fire burned from one of the cars. More than likely, it was the locomotive with its hot coals used to fuel the engine. With the bit of light it provided in the rear of the train, she was able to see the remainder of Sam’s body caged behind a rubble of iron and steel.

  Wanting to flee immediately, she paused long enough to watch his chest rise and fall in the darkness. For a entire micrometer she contemplated killing him. No one would be the wiser. And she would be free.

  But instead she turned and fled into the night.

  She wasn’t able to make out any other passengers. Not that she tried. Her opportunity of escape had opened the door—nay, had blasted the door—to freedom and she wasn’t sticking around for the Radford’s indignation.

  Once Sam Michalski told them of her true identity and her past, she had no doubt they would have fired her on the spot. They were upright and moral citizens. They wouldn’t take kindly to her deception.

  A sound from the forest had her going still. An image of wild animals flashed across her mind. She spun her head around searching the thick underbrush for the source of the sound. The morning sunrise had now fully cast daylight into the forest, but all she saw were bare branches.

  On wobbly legs, she pushed herself up and started back on her way. Though her earlier words sounded brave, facing death at the hands of nature was entirely a different matter. She didn’t fancy the idea of being some bear’s breakfast. Getting to her feet, she limped forward; walking as best she could, she pushed herself onward.

  All of a sudden, a commotion broke from the trees and something dark, and large, lunged at her from out of the woods. So unexpected, she didn’t have the second she needed to produce a scream.

  Her mouth opened, yes, but she was knocked to the ground so swiftly, the only sound passing through her lips was air whizzing out of her lungs.

  “Tracked ya down a lot sooner than I anticipated.” Someone muttered in her ear. She lifted her chin and saw Sam Michalski looming above her.

  “Get off me!” she growled, struggling to free herself.

  “Not so fast.”

  “I not be going back to Chicago.”

  “Yes, you be.” He mocked her accent before reaching for her wrists and hauling her to her feet.

  Ivy tugged to release herself, but his fingers were like steel. Though stronger. “Let me go. I be not going anywhere with ye.”

  “‘Fraid you are, ma’am.” She heard the jangle of handcuffs. He wouldn’t dare! With effort, she struggled even harder, her breathing heavy.

  “Calm down, Ms. McGregor,” he said the same moment the click of the heavy irons locked around her wrists.

  “Calm down? Ye bastard!” Anger fuelled her actions. She reached out with her good leg and kicked with her best effort. Though her attempt was feeble as her poor leg was barely able to support her weight. Sam Michalski grabbed hold of her shoulder and turned her away from him.

  “Start moving.”

  “Absolutely not!” She refused to budge, planting her feet firmly to the earth and glared at her assailant.

  “Now, you listen here.” He shoved his face toward her, his jaw stiff, his eyes blazing. “It’s been one hell of a night and I’ll be damned if I’m going to put up with any drama from you. I have no intention of carrying you, but I will not hesitate to drag you.”

  Her anger flared. Without thought, she spat in that face which was far too close for her own personal comfort. His only reaction was the smallest flicker of movement, and then he reached up and wiped her spit from his face with his gloved hand. Ignoring it, he turned to the satchel he carried over his shoulder and removed a rope.

  “What do ye think ye be doing with that?” Her eyes widened as an image of him literally dragging her like some barbarian through the forest leaped to mind. “Ye can’t be serious!”

  “I’m not the real joking kind, ma’am.”

  Then he reached out and snatched her cuffed wrists in his one hand, while the other proceeded to wrap the end of the rope around her wrists. As he tightened it into a secure knot, she burned with outrage wishing she had killed him after all. With all her hatred she glared up into his face, but his eyes did not even bother meeting her gaze, though she was certain he knew she was looking at him.

  “Why are ye doing this?”

  “It’s my job, ma’am.” His voice was so cold, so unemotional.

  A flicker of hope. “Whatever they be paying ye, I’ll double it.”

  He actually smirked, his eyes briefly rising to look at her before dropping her wrists. Reaching back into the satchel, he pulled out a piece of gray material. Surprised, Ivy looked upon her cloak before he snapped it open and tied it around her shoulders. Blessedly, it blocked out most of the frigid elements.

  She drew her attention back to his face; however, refusing to offer her gratitude. His eyes met hers and something crossed their dark depths, turning their golden highlights into a darker shade of brown. Then he went hard and cold once more.

  “We best get moving.”

  “Please, I beg of ye. Don’t do this.” God, she hated begging. But she had nothing else left to defend herself.

  “A little late for remorse, Ms. McGregor.”

  Slightly confused by that, she brushed his comment aside and said, “Whatever your price be, Mr. Michalski, I’ll pay it.”

  His smirk, long gone, was now replaced with a dark scowl. “There wouldn’t be enough money.”

  This caused her to draw back slightly, frowning hard. It almost sounded as if he hated her. As if he felt she deserved whatever her fate back in Chicago. But that was impossible. He didn’t even know her.

  “As I said, let’s get moving.” He led the way through the forest and gave the rope a sharp tug, causing Ivy’s body to lurch forward and forcing her to walk, or indeed be dragged behind.

  “Where ye be taking me? As ye can see, there ain’t much civilization out here.”

  “Fort William is about three hundred miles west of here. It looks like a good three days walk.”

  “Three days?” she said, struggling to keep up with her bad leg. “In the wilderness?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll not survive,” she exclaimed, panic raising her voice. “We’ll starve to death, for certain. Or worse, freeze.”

  “A very good possibility, ma’am. Perhaps you should have thought of that before fleeing from the train.”

  “I was running for me life,” she said in her defense. “I hardly had the time to be stopping and considering me options.”

  He seemed to ignore this. “I should be able to hunt and find us food. If you know what you’re doing, the land will provide for you.”

  “And ye know what ye be doing?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How is that?”

  “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  “What? Capturing helpless females and be returning them to what is more than certain their death.”

  He stopped walking so suddenly, she stumbled trying not to collide with him. Turning, he stared down at her. His eyes looked more black than hazel in the early morning light. And tho
ugh they did not look utterly unkind, they did not necessarily look compassionate either. She stiffened her spine.

  “I hardly think you’re the helpless female kind.”

  He turned and began walking once again. She watched his back. He was tall, a good head taller than herself. His shoulders were broad beneath the bulky jacket. If he wasn’t her enemy, she would have found some comfort in his huge frame. Though she hated to admit it, the surroundings were new to her and Ivy recognized when she was out of her element.

  But Sam Michalski was right on one account. She was no helpless female. Just out here, in this unending wilderness, she felt suddenly very fragile.

  “Perhaps it best we head back to the train.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, perhaps there be someone who can—“

  ”They’re dead.”

  He said it so matter of fact, she thought she must have heard him wrong. She blinked. “All of them?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “God almighty.” She stopped in her tracks, feeling all of a sudden very ill. Her arms were yanked out in front of her, as Sam hadn’t noticed her halting. When he did, he stopped and looked back.

  “What? Are you trying to convince me you feel empathy? Sorry, don’t buy it.” With a jerk of the rope, he pulled her forward.

  His harsh words hadn’t even penetrated Ivy’s brain. The Radford’s were dead. A hollow feeling tugged on her chest. She recognized it immediately. Loss. Though she had never been close with the Radford’s, they had treated her well considering. Not many had.

  Her poor leg suddenly pinched. Biting down a cry of pain, she however, could not stop herself from stumbling. With a grunt, she fell to the earth and onto her hands and knees.

  It was only then that she realized how horrible her stomach felt. The impact of her body pitching forward reverberated on her stomach and Ivy couldn’t stop the vomit if she tried. She despised vomiting. It made her feel wretched, empty, weak. All the things she hated, and certainly could not afford at that moment.

  To his credit, Sam Michalski waited patiently above her. Though noticeably, he didn’t move to help her. “About done?”

  Using the back of her hand, for she had nothing else, she wiped her mouth and shot him an angry glare, but nodded nevertheless. It was obvious her captor was a heartless man.

  “Is the limp fake?” he asked unexpectedly.

  She struggled to make the pain in her leg more endurable. “No.”

  “I didn’t notice one before you supposedly hit it on your chair.” He pointed out.

  Ivy could care less whether he thought her a liar or not, but found herself saying. “It acts up when I be putting too much pressure on it.”

  “How?”

  Inhaling deeply from exhaustion, she glared at him. “How what?”

  “How did you injure your leg?”

  Automatically, she stiffened. “It’s me ankle. And it be none of yer business.”

  She frowned. Correcting him was offering more than she intended. Angry at herself, she bit the inside of her mouth. “Besides, why would ye ask?”

  “Forget it, you’re right. None of my business.” Then straightening his hat, he produced a chuckle, though it lacked sincerity. “You certainly are a suspicious female.”

  “And why wouldn’t I be? It’s not every day a strange man locks me up in a baggage car, and then drags me captive through the wilderness.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, and she thought the subject dropped, but then he said, “That wasn’t an inexperienced woman who escaped my handcuffs. You’ve obviously done this kind of thing before.”

  Yes, she had. Far too many times.

  “I won’t be going down without a fight, Mr. Michalski.” She tilted her chin up and gave him her best defiant look. It was a good idea she let him know up front what he could expect.

  “But you’ll go down, Ms. McGregor, nevertheless,” he replied, his own eyes holding her gaze. “I’ll personally make sure of it.”

  This last comment had surprisingly the same impact as if he had slapped her in the face. It stung. Her brows dipped. “Why? I’ve done nothing to ye. I don’t even know ye.”

  “Maybe not. But I know you and your kind.” He turned to leave once again, but before he did she heard him mutter under his breath, “Too well.”

  “Whatever yer issues may be, Mr. Michalski, I don’t think it be right ye seeking vengeance on me. I’ve done ye no wrong.”

  “Well, I suppose you’re right about that. However, I will see that you are returned to Chicago. From that point, I’ll leave you to your fate.”

  It was obvious there was no getting through to this man. She had lowered her pride, given up the one last morsel of self-respect she had, but he would not relent. The next best thing Ivy could hope for, was when he eventually fell asleep, she would slip out of the handcuffs, untie the ropes around her wrists, and escape into the night.

  She would only pray that this time, he would be unsuccessful in tracking her down. And, if she prayed real hard, maybe even some wild beast would eat him while he slept. This brought a grin to her lips as she glanced up and watched his form push through the low overhanging branches. Then she grimaced, knowing that was a bit harsh, but at the moment, this unemotional, cold man did not deserve an ounce of her compassion.

  * * *

  They had been moving for several hours. The sun had been up for quite a while and was already starting to reach afternoon high. Beneath his hat, his head throbbed where he had injured it in the wreck. An earlier examination with the tips of his fingers, indicated it had not been as deep as he feared. But he still needed to clean and attend it soon or infection would set in. However, the only source of water he had seen came from murky swamps. He needed to find clean spring water soon.

  Behind him, Ivy McGregor stumbled along. Her skin was pale from exhaustion and her lips cracked from dehydration. She was going to need water soon as well or he may just end up dragging her through the forest after all. As it was, she had fallen several times, forcing him to stop until she was able to stand and move on once more. At this rate, it was going to take them a hell of a lot longer than the three days he predicted.

  Glancing over his shoulder he noticed her favoring the one leg. He had asked if the limp was fake, but he didn’t need to hear her denial. He could easily see for himself. The skin around her mouth tightened with every step. The nerve along her neck would stretch against her delicate skin. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, beneath the newly colored pink cheeks thanks to the chill in the air, her skin looked almost gray. Not to mention, she was having a hard time managing the brutal terrain. Though she did not complain once, he could see the agony in her face.

  Why had he asked how she obtained the injury? He wasn’t interested. He certainly didn’t care. Perhaps it was an old bad habit. No matter how hard he tried to steel himself to a woman’s weakness, he would always give in. The difference in this situation, was this woman was no weakling. Notwithstanding her disability.

  Her brain was sharp as a whip, and he would be smart to remember that. She was a practiced con artist. Her pleas with those big eyes looking so unusually soft and innocent could deceive the best of man. He himself had felt himself go momentarily weak. But then he had pulled himself together quickly with a reminder of whom she was. A killer.

  He prided himself that no other prisoner of his had ever escaped him before. That was, not since Daphne.

  A hot rage boiled in the core of his gut at the mere thought of Daphne Sweeney. He most certainly didn’t appreciate those memories resurfacing. Though, admittedly, would have been difficult not to under the circumstances. The similarities were too close.

  He looked over his shoulder as he felt the rope tug for the umpteenth time and watched Ivy McGregor fall to the ground. Her short copper curls looked in disarray. Her wide forehead had streaks of dirt matching the filth on her gray cheeks. She looked far from how she initially appeared when he first spotted her at the train
station. Then she had looked composed, well put together. And listless.

  Watching her, he couldn’t help but admit how exhausted she must be. The woman struggled with every breath she took. Brushing the thought aside, he turned and kept moving, ignoring the throbbing of muscles in his own legs. He didn’t want to think about Ivy’s suffering, or her comparison to Daphne.

  On the outside, the women might have been on the opposite ends of the pole. But inside, their souls couldn’t be more alike. Reluctantly, his mind travelled back to the past. Daphne had been distractingly beautiful. Immaculate. He had been drawn to her instantly. Then paid the price later for it. A quick glance back at Ivy and he knew that wouldn’t be an issue.

  Ivy was a homely woman. Barring a remarkable set of eyes. They had the ability to be cold and lifeless one moment, than alive and on fire the next. Though at the present moment, appeared sunken and shallow. Her skin didn’t fare any better. Far too pale against that copper hair of hers.

  He never liked redheads. They reminded him of his mother.

  Unwillingly, he slid a glance at the strands in question, glistening in the sunlight. Hers though, were admittedly more on the strawberry side with the odd streak of blond highlights throughout. The curls were natural and, in opposition to her persona, looked soft even in their disheveled appearance. If she had worn them long, he didn’t doubt they could bewitch the best of men. As it was, she styled it short, just below the ear. Very unusual. He didn’t know many females risqué enough to wear theirs short.

  Not that her appearance would have any foundation on how he treated her anyway, he thought pushing forward. Many a men believed poison ivy to be safe in the autumn when the plant bore red leaves. However, once burned by the deceptive plant, one learned quickly never to trust the colored leaves. And this definitely was one Ivy he had no intention of misjudging.

  With his attention back on the trail, he forced his thoughts to concentrate on where he was stepping. Had he not just said never again would he allow a woman to distract him from his task? He hated the idea of being stuck alone with her in this god-forsaken country. This capture was supposed to be swift and rewarding. An easy job with a big bounty. So much so that he had actually thought of leaving it for someone else to track her down. But the reward was too tempting to turn his back on.